Not one of them drew breath whilst they waited for the answer; and the questioner himself looked down to see that his feet were scrupulously within the pentacle. It came sad, solemn, and as if from a distance, chanted in a full, mournful and melodious tone:— “The foes a prince behoves to dread, that turn and tear their lord, Are those that haunt about his bed, and blush beside his board.” Then the Regent, gaining courage, asked in a firmer voice, “Who is my best friend?” The reply was more distinct, and its clear emphasis seemed to vouch for the speaker’s truth, Father of Lies though he might be called:— “One friend is thine, whose silent kiss clings subtle, sure, and fast; When all shall fail, yet shall not this, the swiftest, though the last.” Thus encouraged, the royal questioner gathered heart with every fresh answer, and it was in his customary unrestrained tone that he propounded his last inquiry, “Shall I live to wear the crown of France?” This time, however, the phantom arm waved backwards and forwards, clenching its gigantic hand, while the demon’s voice seemed again to rise from distant and mysterious depths, as it replied:— “When woman’s love can trust thy vows, when woman’s guileless glance Can thrill thy breast, bind on thy brows the diadem of France! Enough! For more I dare not tell. Glad life, and lusty reign! Predestined Prince, and fare thee well!—till we shall meet again!” In five minutes all were once more in the open air. The Regent, grave and preoccupied, spoke not a word while they passed swiftly through the wood to gain their carriage; but Bras-de-Fer whispered in his comrade’s ear, “It seems the devil is like the rest, and had rather not come to close quarters with the Grey Musketeers.” To which professional remark Captain George replied, thoughtfully— “He is an adversary for whom I would choose a weapon that kept me as far off him as possible!” CHAPTER XVII A QUIET SUPPER In less than an hour, how changed the scene for two of the actors in that mysterious drama—of which Bartoletti was chief manager and Malletort sat in the prompter’s box! The Captain of Musketeers had been invited to sup with the Regent, and found in his prince’s private apartments a little party collected, whose mirth and high spirits were well calculated to drive away any remains of superstitious gloom left by the incantations of the cavern and their result. The select suppers of the Duke of Orleans were conducted with an absence of ceremony or restraint that indeed degenerated on occasion into the grossest license; but even under the Regency men did not necessarily conclude every night in the week with an orgy, and the mirth of the _roués_ themselves was not always degraded into drunkenness, nor their wit pushed to profanity and shameless indecency of speech.