Bernard de Rohan waited for nearly an hour before the person whom he wished to see made his appearance. At length, however, the aubergiste entered; and--with a face of so much mystery and importance as almost to make the young gentleman believe that he was acquainted with the character and pursuits of the brigand--he announced that the Chevalier Lenoir had called again to know if the Baron de Rohan had returned. In a minute or two after, Corse de Leon himself entered the room; and Bernard could not but feel some surprise at the manner in which the wild, bold, vehement rover of the mountain side conformed to the usages of society, and bent down his energies, if we may so say, to the customary trammels of an artificial mode of life. He shook hands with Bernard de Rohan as an old friend, put down his hat upon the table by his side, remarked that the dust had soiled his plume, spoke of the heat of the past day, and with such empty nothings carried on the interview till the aubergiste had retired and closed the large oaken door behind him. The moment he was gone, however, the brigand said abruptly, "I came hither before, to lead you to the scene whither it seems you had gone without me. Is not that a lovely sport?" he continued, with a curling lip and a flashing eye; "is not that a lovely sport for keen, sleek priests, after feasting in the refectory? Is not that a sweet amusement for these holy and gentle pastors to go to, with the grease of their patties still sticking upon their lips? Pastors! why our pastors of the Alps would teach them better than that: they take the wool and use the milk, but they roast not the lambs of their flock, as the people of the plains do. By Heaven, it would do my soul good to make yon bloodthirsty capuchin eat the flesh he has cooked this night. They call us lawless brigands," he continued. "Pray God that we may ever be lawless, so long as there are such laws as these. I came to show you this spectacle, for I once told you I would make you witness such things, but you had gone without me." "I went not willingly," replied Bernard de Rohan. "I was caught in the crowd, and could not disentangle myself. I hate and abhor such sights, and think that these acts are disgraceful and ruinous to our religion. If anything could justify heresy, such persecution surely would do it."