And Chicot perceived, by the feeble light of the lamp, a silver gilt box, richly chased. Then about twenty monks, with their heads buried in immense hoods, came out of the crypt, and stationed themselves in the nave. A single one, conducted by M. de Monsoreau, mounted the staircase, and placed himself at the right of M. de Guise. Then M. de Guise spoke. “Friends,” said he, “time is precious; therefore I go straight to the point. You have heard just now, in the first assembly, the complaints of some of our members, who tax with coldness the principal person among us, the prince nearest to the throne. The time is come to render justice to this prince; you shall hear and judge for yourselves whether your chiefs merit the reproach of coldness and apathy made by one of our brothers, the monk Gorenflot, whom we have not judged it prudent to admit into our secret.” At this name, pronounced in a tone which showed bad intentions towards the warlike monk, Chicot in his confessional could not help laughing quietly. “Monsieur,” said the duke, now turning towards the mysterious personages at his right, “the will of God appears to me manifest; for since you have consented to join us, it shows that what we do is well done. Now, your highness, we beg of you to lower your hood, that your faithful friends may see with their own eyes that you keep the promise which I made in your name, and which they hardly dared to believe.” The mysterious personage now lowered his hood, and Chicot saw the head of the Duc d’Anjou appear, so pale that, by the light of the lamp, it looked like that of a marble statue. “Oh, oh!” thought Chicot, “the duke is not yet tired of playing for the crown with the heads of others!” “Long live Monseigneur le Duc d’Anjou!” cried the assembly. The duke grew paler than ever. “Fear nothing, monseigneur,” said Henri de Guise; “our chapel is deaf, and its doors are well closed.” “My brothers,” said the Comte de Monsoreau, “his highness wishes to address a few words to the assembly.” “Yes, yes!” cried they.