The monk at the altar waited, apparently, to give time for the sentence which had just been pronounced to reach the heart of him whom it concerned. Then turning to the Englishman, who continued as calm as if he were at a comedy, he said: “Sir John Tanlay, you are a foreigner and an Englishman--a double reason why you should leave the Companions of Jehu to fight their own battles with the government, whose downfall they have sworn. You failed in wisdom, you yielded to idle curiosity; instead of keeping away, you have entered the lion’s den, and the lion will rend you.” Then after an instant’s silence, during which he seemed to await the Englishman’s reply, he resumed, seeing that he remained silent: “Sir John Tanlay, you are condemned to death. Prepare to die!” “Ah! I see that I have fallen into the hands of a band of thieves. If so, I can buy myself off with a ransom.” Then turning to the monk at the altar he asked, “How much do you demand, captain?” A threatening murmur greeted these insolent words. The monk at the altar stretched out his hand. “You are mistaken, Sir John. We are not a band of thieves,” said he in a tone as calm and composed as Sir John’s, “and the proof is, that if you have money or jewels upon you, you need only give me your instructions, and they will be remitted either to your family or the person whom you designate.” “And what guarantee shall I have that my last wishes will be carried out?” “My word.” “The word of the leader of assassins! I don’t trust it.” “This time, as before, you are mistaken, Sir John. I am no more the leader of assassins than I am a captain of thieves.” “Who are you, then?” “The elect of celestial vengeance. I am the envoy of Jehu, King of Israel, who was anointed by the prophet Elisha to destroy the house of Ahab.” “If you are what you say, why do you veil your faces? Why do you wear armor under your robes? The elect strike openly; they risk death in giving death. Throw back your hoods, show me your naked breasts, and I will admit that you are what you pretend to be.” “Brothers, you have heard him,” said the monk at the altar. Then, stripping off his gown, he opened his coat, waistcoat and even his shirt. Each monk did the same, and stood with face exposed and bared breast. They were all handsome young men, of whom the eldest was apparently not more than thirty-five. Their dress was elegant, but, strange fact, none was armed. They were judges and nothing more. “Be satisfied, Sir John Tanlay,” said the monk at the altar. “You will die, but in dying, you can, as you wished just now, recognize and kill your judges. Sir John, you have five minutes to prepare your soul for death!”