Torquatus’s perplexity was not diminished by the volley of oaths and imprecations, and the threats of violence which were showered upon him, for a fool or a traitor. “Stay one moment, I entreat you,” he said. “It is possible I have mistaken my reckoning. I know the right turn by a remarkable tomb a few yards within it; I will just step into one or two of the last corridors, and see.” With these words, he ran back to the next gallery on the left, advanced a few paces, and totally disappeared. Though his companions had followed him to the very mouth of the gallery, they could not see how this happened. It appeared like witchcraft, in which they were quite ready to believe. His light and himself seemed to have vanished at once. “We will have no more of this work,” they said; “either Torquatus is a traitor, or he has been carried off by magic.” Worried, heated in the close atmosphere, almost inflamed by their lights, begrimed, blinded, and choked by the pitchy smoke, crest-fallen and disheartened, they turned back; and since their road led straight to the entrance, they flung away their blazing torches into the side galleries, one here and one there, as they passed by, to get rid of them. When they looked back, it seemed as if a triumphal illumination was kindling up the very atmosphere of the gloomy corridor. From the mouths of the various caverns came forth a fiery light which turned the dull sandstone into a bright crimson; while the volumes of smoke above, hung like amber clouds along the whole gallery. The sealed tombs, receiving the unusual reflection on their yellow tiles, or marble slabs, appeared covered with golden or silver plates, set in the red damask of the walls. It looked like a homage paid to martyrdom, by the very furies of heathenism, on the first day of persecution. The torches which they had kindled to destroy, only served to shed brightness on monuments of that virtue which had never failed to save the Church. But before these foiled hounds with drooping heads had reached the entrance, they recoiled before the sight of a singular apparition. At first they thought they had caught a glimpse of daylight; but they soon perceived it was the glimmering of a lamp. This was held steadily by an upright, immovable figure, which thus received its light upon itself. It was clothed in a dark dress, so as to resemble one of those bronze statues, which have the head and extremities of white marble, and startle one, when first seen; so like are they to living forms. “Who can it be? What is it?” the men whispered to one another. “A sorceress,” replied one. “The _genius loci_,”[152] observed another. “A spirit,” suggested a third. Still, as they approached stealthily towards it, it did not appear conscious of their presence: “there was no speculation in its eyes;” it remained unmoved and unscared. At length, two got sufficiently near to seize the figure by its arms. “Who are you?” asked Corvinus, in a rage.