"I pray， sir， to Jehovah， the God of the Jews， that for every grain of these ashes He may take a life in payment for that of my murdered husband， and I think that He will listen."
"Like enough，" answered Hugh， crossing himself， "but， woman， can you wonder that we Christians hold you sorcerers when we hear such prayers from your lips？"
She turned with a tragic motion， and， pointing to the bones of her husband smouldering in the fire， answered：
"And can you wonder， sir， that we wretched creatures utter such prayers when you， our masters， do such deeds as this？"
"No，" answered Hugh， "I cannot. Let us be going from this shambles."
So they went， a melancholy procession if ever there one was seen upon this earth. As the three Englishmen marched behind the horses with their weeping burdens Grey **** reflected aloud after his fashion.
"Jew and Christian！" he said. "The Jews killed one Man who chanced to be a God， though they knew it not， and ever since the Christians have killed thousands of the Jews. Now， which is the most wicked， those Jews who killed the Man Who was a God， because He said He was a God， or those Christians who throw a man into a fire to burn before his wife's and children's eyes？ A man who never said that he was a god， but who， they said， put poison into their wells， which he did not do， but which they believed he did because he was one of the race that thirteen hundred years ago killed their God？ Ah， well！ Jew and Christian， I think the same devil dwells in them all， but Murgh alone knows the truth of the matter. If ever we meet again， I'll ask him of it. Meanwhile， we go to Avignon in strange company， whereof all the holy priests yonder， if any of them still live， to say nothing of the people， may demand an account of us."
So spoke **** as one who seeks an answer， but neither of his companions gave him any.
On they went through the ruined land unpursued， although they had just brought sundry men to their deaths. For now neither law nor justice was left and those killed who could and those died who must， unwept and unavenged. Only certain travellers， flying they knew not whither， flying from doom to doom， eyed them with hate and loathing because of their companions. Those who consorted with Jews must， they thought， be the enemies of every Christian soul.
Well was it for them perhaps that the early winter night was closing in when they reached the wonderful bridge of St. B閚閦et， now quite unguarded， since a worse foe reigned in Avignon than any that it could fear from without. They crossed it， unnoted， for here none lingered in the gloom and rain save one poor woman， who called out to them that all she loved were dead and that she went to seek them. Then， before they could interfere， she scrambled to the parapet of the bridge and with a wild cry leapt into the foaming waters that rushed beneath.
"God forgive and rest her！" muttered Hugh， crossing himself. The others only shrugged their shoulders. Such dreadful sights fed their eyes daily till they learned to take little note of them.
In a deserted place on the farther side of the bridge they halted， and Hugh said to the Jewish widow：
"Woman， here is Avignon， where you tell us there are those who will befriend you， so now let us part. We have done what we can for you and it is not safe either for you or for us that we should be seen together in this Christian city."
"Sir， you speak well，" she answered. "Be pleased ere we separate， to meet no more perchance， to tell me your names that I may remember them and hand them down among my people from generation to generation."
So he told her， and thrust onto her a gift of money and the most of such food as remained to them. Then the poor woman lifted up her arms and said：
"I， Rebecca， daughter of Onias and wife of Nathan， call down on you， Hugh de Cressi， Richard Archer and David Day， and on your children forever， the blessings of Jehovah， because you have rescued the widow and her children from the fire and avenged the murder of the husband and the father. O God of my people， as Thou didst save Lot and his house from the flames of Sodom， so save these true-hearted and merciful men！ Turn from them the sword of Thy wrath when it smites the sinful cities！ Cast the cloak of Thy protection about them and all they love！ Prosper their handiwork in peace and in war， fulfil their desire upon their enemies， and at last let them die full of years and honour and so be gathered into Thy eternal bosom！ Thus prayeth Rebecca， the daughter of Onias， and thus shall it be."
Then， leading her children， she turned and vanished into the darkness.
"Now，" said **** when she had gone， "although they were spoken by a Jew whom men call accursed because their forefathers， fulfilling prophecy， or some few of them， wrought a great crime when the world was young and thereby brought about the salvation of mankind， as we believe， those are among the most comfortable words to which my ears have listened， especially such of them as dealt with the fulfilling of our desire upon our enemies in war. Well， they are spoke， and I doubt not registered in a book which will not be lost. So， master， let us seek a lodging in this city of Avignon， which， for my part， I do with a light heart."
Hugh nodded， and his heart also was lightened by those words of blessing and good omen. Mounting their horses， they took a street that led them past the great Roches des Doms， on the crest of which stood the mighty palace of the Popes， as yet unfinished， but still one of the vastest buildings they had ever seen. Here on the battlements and in front of the gateway burned great fires， lit by order of his Holiness to purify the air and protect him and his Court from the plague.
