It was Palm Sunday, 23d of March.  The women and children were going mournfully about the streets, bearing green branches in their hands, and praying upon their knees, in every part of the city.  Despair and superstition had taken possession of citizens, who up to that period had justified La Noue’s assertion, that none could endure a siege like Huguenots.  As soon as the cannonading began, the spirit of the inhabitants seemed to depart.  The ministers exhorted their flocks in vain as the tiles and chimneys began to topple into the streets, and the concussions of the artillery were responded to by the universal wailing of affrighted women.

Upon the very first day after the unmasking of the batteries, the city sent to Noircarmes, offering almost an unconditional surrender.  Not the slightest breach had been effected—­not the least danger of an assault existed—­yet the citizens, who had earned the respect of their antagonists by the courageous manner in which they had sallied and skirmished during the siege, now in despair at any hope of eventual succor, and completely demoralized by the course of recent events outside their walls, surrendered ignominiously, and at discretion.  The only stipulation agreed to by Noircarmes was, that the city should not be sacked, and that the lives of the inhabitants should be spared.

This pledge was, however, only made to be broken.  Noircarmes entered the city and closed the gates.  All the richest citizens, who of course were deemed the most criminal, were instantly arrested.  The soldiers, although not permitted formally to sack the city, were quartered upon the inhabitants, whom they robbed and murdered, according to the testimony of a Catholic citizen, almost at their pleasure.

Michael Herlin, a very wealthy and distinguished burgher, was arrested upon the first day.  The two ministers, Guido de Bray and Peregrine de la Grange, together with the son of Herlin, effected their escape by the water-gate.  Having taken refuge in a tavern at Saint Arnaud, they were observed, as they sat at supper, by a peasant, who forthwith ran off to the mayor of the borough with the intelligence that some individuals, who looked like fugitives, had arrived at Saint Arnaud.  One of them, said the informer, was richly dressed; and wore a gold-hilted sword with velvet scabbard.  By the description, the mayor recognized Herlin the younger,—­and suspected his companions.  They were all arrested, and sent to Noircarmes.  The two Herlins, father and son, were immediately beheaded.  Guido de Bray and Peregrine de la Grange were loaded with chains, and thrown into a filthy dungeon, previously to their being hanged.  Here they were visited by the Countess de Roeulx, who was curious to see how the Calvinists sustained themselves in their martyrdom.  She asked them how they could sleep, eat, or drink, when covered with such heavy fetters.  “The cause, and my good conscience,” answered De Bray, “make me eat, drink, and sleep better than those who are doing me wrong.  These shackles are more honorable to me than golden rings and chains.  They are more useful to me, and as I hear their clank, methinks I hear the music of sweet voices and the tinkling of lutes.”