Madame bent over her tapestry and weaved her coloured silks in silence, while the king leaned upon his hand and listened with the face of a man who knows that he is driven, and yet can hardly turn against the goads.

On the low table lay a paper, with pen and ink beside it.

It was the order for the revocation, and it only needed the king's signature to make it the law of the land.
"And so, father, you are of opinion that if I stamp out heresy in this fashion I shall assure my own salvation in the next world ?" he asked.
"You will have merited a reward." "And you think so too, Monsieur Bishop ?" "Assuredly, sire." "And you.

Abbe du Chayla ?" The emaciated priest spoke for the first time, a tinge of colour creeping into his corpse-like cheeks, and a more lurid light in his deep-set eyes.
"I know not about assuring your salvation, sire.

I think it would take very much more to do that.