This sign, always respected, announced that the commander forbade absolutely and to all the entrance to his chamber. Nevertheless, the Moor inspired such interest that Father Elzear, although well-nigh convinced of the futility of his effort, desired to make one last trial. He entered the commander’s chamber. CHAPTER XXIII. THE COMMANDER The spectacle which met the eyes of Father Elzear was both frightful and solemn. The chamber, which was very small, and lighted only by two narrow windows, was hung with black. A coffin of white wood, filled with ashes, and fastened to the floor by screws, served as a bed for Commander Pierre des Anbiez. Above this funereal bed was suspended the portrait of a young man wearing a cuirass, and leaning on a helmet. An aquiline nose, a delicate and gracefully chiselled mouth, and large, sea-green eyes gave to this face an expression which was, at the same time, proud and benevolent. Below the frame, on a tablet, was written distinctly the date December 25,1613; a black curtain hanging near the picture could be drawn over it at pleasure. Weapons of war, attached to a rack, constituted the sole ornaments of this gruesome habitation. Pierre des Anbiez had not observed the entrance of his brother. On his knees before his praying-desk, the commander was half covered with a coarse haircloth, which he wore night and day; his shoulders were bare. By the drops of coagulated blood, and by the furrows which veined his flesh, it could be seen that he had just inflicted upon himself a bloody discipline. His bowed head rested on his two hands, and now and then convulsive shudders shook his lacerated shoulders, as if his breast heaved under the agony of suppressed sobs. The praying-desk, where he was kneeling, was placed below the two small windows, which admitted an occasional and doubtful light into this chamber. In the midst of this dim light the pale face and long white vestments of Father Elzear contrasted strangely with the wainscoting hung with black; he looked like a spectre. He stood there as if petrified; he had never believed his brother capable of such mortifications, and, lifting his hands to Heaven, he uttered a profound sigh. The commander started. He turned around quickly, and, seeing in the shadow the immovable figure of Father Elzear, cried, in terror: “Are you a spirit? Do you come to ask account of the blood I have shed?” His countenance was frightful. Never remorse, never despair, never terror impressed its seal more terribly upon the brow of guilt! His eyes, red with weeping, were fixed and haggard; his gray, closely shaven hair seemed to bristle upon his brow; his bluish lips trembled with fear, and his scraggy, muscular arms were extended before him as if they entreated a supernatural vision. “My brother! my brother!” exclaimed Elzear, throwing himself upon the commander. “My brother, it is I; may God be with you!”