“We have to do here with a very extraordinary people,” wrote the marshal to Chamillard, soon after his arrival; “it is a people unlike anything I ever knew—­all alive, turbulent, hasty, susceptible of light as well as deep impressions, tenacious in its opinions.  Add thereto zeal for religion, which is as ardent amongst heretics as Catholics, and you will no longer be surprised that we should be often very much embarrassed.  There are three sorts of Camisards:  the first, with whom we might arrange matters by reason of their being weary of the miseries of war.  The second, stark mad on the subject of religion, absolutely intractable on that point; the first little boy or little girl that falls a-trembling and declares that the Holy Spirit is speaking to it, all the people believe it, and, if God with all his angels were to come and speak to them, they would not believe them more; people, moreover, on whom the penalty of death makes not the least impression; in battle they thank those who inflict it upon them; they walk to execution singing the praises of God and exhorting those present, insomuch that it has often been necessary to surround the criminals with drums to prevent the pernicious effect of their speeches.  Finally, the third:  people without religion, accustomed to pillage, to murder, to quarter themselves upon the peasants; a rascalry furious, fanatical, and swarming with prophetesses.”

Villars had arrived in Languedoc the day after the checks encountered by the Camisards.  The despondency and suffering were extreme; and the marshal had Cavalier sounded.

“What do you want to lay down your arms?” said the envoy.  “Three things,” replied the Cevenol chief:  “liberty of conscience, the release of our brethren detained in the prisons and the galleys, and if these demands are refused, permission to quit France with ten thousand persons.”  The negotiators were intrusted with the most flattering offers for Cavalier.  Sensible, and yet vain, moved by his country’s woes, and flattered by the idea of commanding a king’s regiment, the young Camisard allowed himself to be won.  He repaired formally to Nimes for an interview with the marshal.  “He is a peasant of the lowest grade,” wrote Villars to Chamillard, “who is not twenty-two, and does not look eighteen; short, and with no imposing air, qualities essential for the lower orders, but surprising good sense and firmness.  I asked him yesterday how he managed to keep his fellows under.  ‘Is it possible,’ said I, ’that, at your age, and not being long used to command, you found no difficulty in often ordering to death your own men?’ ‘No, sir,’ said he, ‘when it seemed to me just.’  ’But whom did you employ to inflict it?’ ’The first whom I ordered, and nobody ever hesitated to follow my orders.’  I fancy, sir, that you will consider this rather surprising.  Furthermore, he shows great method in the matter of his supplies, and he disposes his troops for an engagement as well as very experienced officers could do.  It is a piece of luck if I get such a man away from them.”