"Many of the misfortunes of our times are certainly well-merited, reverend sir," remarked Drost Peter, with considerable warmth, and a keen look at the dean, "when sinful men presume to call down and carry out the chastisements of the Lord. The unfortunate king you have mentioned I shall not defend; but if people can justly dethrone their kings because they are not what they ought to be, then can no throne and no kingdom exist, until pure angels are sent from heaven to govern us." "That is not requisite," replied the dean, swelling with the air and authority of a pope. "So long as the Lord's vicegerent sits in St. Peter's holy chair, and as long as he and the servants of the word are regarded as the messengers of the truth among the people, so long no nation need be doubtful how great a worldly burden they may bear with patience, or how great a sinner the Lord will endure among his anointed. Unless you are an arch-heretic, sir drost, you cannot possibly deny this." Drost Peter did not answer; and cook Morten, who had just set a choice dish before the ecclesiastic, appeared, by his roguish smile, to enjoy the manner in which the bold dean had silenced the drost. Without betraying the slightest anger, Drost Peter turned again to the triumphant dignitary. "As a knight, I have sworn to offer my life for the faith, as well as for my lawful king," he said, with an expression of deep earnestness; "and I am not afraid of being doomed, as a heretic, to stake and brand, if even I am of opinion that a lawfully-crowned and anointed sovereign cannot be hurled from his throne by the mightiest anathemas of the Vatican and of Lund. That our Danish kings, at least, have been of the same mind, your own kinsman, Archbishop Erlandsen, among others, experienced. I would not advise any prelate in Denmark to follow so dangerous an example. This prison, reverend sir, might at least remind you that even an archbishop's crook is unable to undo these doors, when they have been locked by command of a king of Denmark." So saying, Drost Peter arose, and begged of the astonished castellan that he might be shown to his sleeping apartment. Master Grand, with a haughty mien, also arose, and expressed the same wish. They saluted each other, coldly and silently; and the castellan himself, with a three-branched candlestick, conducted Drost Peter. Skirmen followed his master, with his mantle and sword. Cook Morten, on a sign from the castellan, led the ecclesiastic to a chamber, by the side of the knights' hall. It was narrow and gloomy, and the door, which was standing ajar, opened only outwards. A strong gust of wind had nearly extinguished the light. A reclining chair, a stool and table, composed the whole of the furniture, and iron bars were fixed in the walls, across the small window. When Master Grand entered this chamber, he started, and looked anxiously around him. "What means this?" he inquired; "do you show me to a prison-cell for a bed-chamber?"