For three hours the monk strove in vain to reach the gate; but the time of grace was fast approaching its close, and now, the press becoming less, he sped along as if he had been flying for life, until he came panting, almost breathless, to the spot where the French general, surrounded by his staff, was sitting on his horse, enjoying himself immensely.

"Ah!" said he, "our pious brother here! Well—you see that I am alive."

"Yes, and I am glad to know it," replied the monk, resuming his place at the bridle.

Melac turned to one of his adjutants: "Give orders to the drivers to go on, and let the soldiers cut down every man that attempts to mount the wagons or withdraw his effects. To get the honey, we must kill the bees. When they are all dead, the men can divide the spoils." [Footnote: Historical.—see Zimmermann, "History of Wurtemberg," vol. ii.]

"As soon as the sport is over," continued he, to another adjutant, "I will repair, with my staff, to the council-hall, there to see the illumination. Ride on, and tell the superintendent that, when he sees my handkerchief waving from the great window in the second story, he must apply his matches."

So saying, Melac put spurs to his horse, and, followed by his staff, approached the wagons, and gave a signal with his sword.

The whole train was set in motion, and the horses were urged to the top of their speed.

The unhappy victims of this demoniac stratagem gave one simultaneous shout of indignation. Those nearest the wagons strove to clutch at them with their hands. Some held on even to the wheels, some mounted the horses, some snatched the reins. But sharp swords were near; and, at the word of command, every outstretched arm was hacked off, and fell, severed, to the ground.

A struggle now began between the soldiery and the companions of those who had been so cruelly mutilated. They were unarmed, but they had the strength of brutes at bay; and by-and-by many a sword had been snatched from their assassins, and many a Frenchman had bitten the dust. General Melac was so interested in a fight between two soldiers and two women whose children had been driven off in the wagons, that, before he was aware of his danger, a sword was uplifted over his head, and a frenzied face was almost thrust into his own. At this moment his reins were seized, his horse was forced back, and the stout arm of the monk had wrested the sabre from the enraged German, who fell, pierced by a bullet from the holster of an officer close by.

"Was it you, pious brother, that so opportunely backed my steed?" inquired Melac.

The monk bowed, and the general saw that his forehead was bloody.

"Are you wounded?"

"Yes, general; I received the stroke that was intended for you, but parried it, and the blow was slight."

"I am a thousand times indebted to you for the service you have rendered me, and hope that you will not leave me a second time without your sheltering presence.—Ho! a horse there for the Bernardine monk!"

No sooner were Melac's commands uttered than they were obeyed, for he that tarried when the tyrant spoke was sure to come to grief. The monk swung himself into the saddle with the agility of a trooper, and, although the horse reared and plunged, he never swerved from his seat.

"Verily you are a curious specimen of a monk," laughed Melac. "I never saw a brother so much to my taste before. Come, follow me to the market-place, and you shall see my skill in pyrotechnics. If I had but Nero's field of operations, I could rival his burning of Rome. Happy Nero, that could destroy a Rome!"

"Do you, also, envy Nero his sudden death?" asked the monk.

"Why, yes; though I would like to put off the evil day as far as may be, I hope to die a sudden and painless death."

"Sudden and painless death," muttered the monk, between his teeth.
"You allude to death on the field of battle?"

"Ay, that do I; it is the only end befitting a soldier. See—we are at the gates. The way is obstructed by corpses," continued he, urging his horse over a heap of dead that lay in the streets. "Luckily, they will not have to be buried; they shall have a funeral pile, like that of the ancients."

"Is the entire city to be destroyed?" asked the monk.

"Yes, the whole city, from one end to the other; and these tottering old buildings will make a brave blaze."

"A brave blaze," echoed the monk, raising his mournful eyes to the long rows of houses that so lately were the abodes of many a happy family, were as empty as open graves. They continued their way along the silent streets—silent even around the cathedral, where, early in the morning, so many thousand supplicants had knelt before God and man for mercy, but knelt in vain.

Some few were within the cathedral walls, some were lying, their ghastly faces upturned to heaven, and those who had survived were wandering across their blasted fields, bereft of kindred and home, houseless, hungry, and almost naked.

General Melac glanced at the cathedral porch. That, too, was empty and still.

"I wonder whether our men have done their work over there?" said he.
"I must go and see."

Then dismounting, and flinging his bridle to his equerry, he called upon the monk to follow him. The staff also dismounted, and an officer advanced to receive orders.

"Gentlemen, betake yourselves to the hall of council, and await my return at the great window there, opposite."

The staff obeyed, and the general, followed by his preserver, ascended the steps that led to the cathedral.

"Your excellency," whispered the monk, corning very close, "before we enter, will you allow me to say a word to you?"

"I should think you had had opportunity enough to-day to say what you wish."

"Not in private, general. Until now we have had listeners."

"Well, is it anything of moment you desire to communicate?"

"Something of great importance."

"Speak on, and be quick, for time presses."

"Your excellency is resolved to burn down the cathedral?"

"Have I not told you that I would?" replied Melac, with a frown.
"Nothing in heaven or on earth shall save it."

"Then," said the monk with a deep sigh, "for the sake of our brotherhood, I must violate the sanctity of the confessional. But you must swear to preserve my secret, otherwise you shall not hear it."

"A secret of the confessional! How can it concern me?"

"You shall hear. It relates to the concealment of two millions' worth of gold and precious stones."

The covetous eyes of Melac glittered, and the blood mounted to his brow. "Two millions!" gasped he.

"One for you and one for our brotherhood. Do you swear to keep the secret?"

"Most unquestionably."

"And also swear that no one but ourselves shall know the place of its concealment?"

"I swear, most willingly, for I do not intend to divide my share of the booty with anybody living. How soon do you expect to come in possession of it?"

"Now—at this very hour."

Melac drew back, and eyed the monk suspiciously. "How! These lying wretches had two millions of treasure, and not one of them would yield it up?"

"General, the people of Speier have nothing—nothing. Nobody knew of it save the bishop, who died day before yesterday, and the sacristan, who died to-day. You remember that I was absent from your side during two hours to-day?"

Melac nodded, and the monk went on: "Those two hours I spent by the dying-bed of this sacristan, the only depositary of the secret. He was wounded among the rest, was conveyed to a neighboring house, and there I received his last confessions. All the treasures of the cathedral—its gold, silver, and jewels—were, at the approach of the French army, conveyed to a place in the tower, which place the sacristan designated so plainly, that I can find it without difficulty."

"But what has induced you to share it with me?" asked Melac, with a glance of mistrust.

"Imperative necessity, general. I cannot obtain it without your protection. You have given orders that no man shall be suffered to escape from the cathedral to-day, and, unless you go with me, the treasure must be given up to the flames. Certainly, if I could have gotten it without assistance, it would have been my duty to give it over entire into the hands of the brotherhood. But if you help me, I will divide it with you. It lies in the tower of the cathedral, close by the belfry."

"Come, then, come; show me the way."

They entered the massive doors. The sentry saluted the general, and they passed on.

"Let nothing more be done until I return," said Melac to the sentry. "I wish to go over the old building before we consign it to the flames."