Raimond V. was about to descend from his pedestal when Captain Georges, who had the rough language and abrupt manners of an old soldier, advanced on the other side of the moat; he took his hat in his hand, and said to Raimond V., in a respectful tone: “Monseigneur, I must inform you of one thing, which is, that I have with me fifty determined soldiers, and that I am resolved, though to my regret, to execute my orders.” “Execute them, my brave friend,” said the baron, smiling, with a jocose manner, “execute them. Your marshal wishes to know if my powder is good; he instructs you to be the gunpowder prover. We will begin the trial whenever you wish.” “Captain, this is too much parley,” cried the recorder. “I order you this instant to employ force of arms to take possession of this rebel against the commands of the king, our master, and to--” “Recorder, I have no orders to receive from you; only take care not to put yourself between the lance and the cuirass,--you might come to grief,” said the captain, imperiously, to Master Isnard. Then, turning to the baron, he said, with as much firmness as deference: “For the last time, monseigneur, I beseech you to consider well: the blood of your vassals will flow; you are going to kill old soldiers who have no animosity against you or yours, and all that, monseigneur,--permit an old graybeard to speak to you frankly,--all that because you wish to rebel against the orders of the king. May God forgive you, monseigneur, for causing the death of so many brave men, and me, for drawing the sword against one of the most worthy gentlemen of the province; but I am a soldier, and I must obey the orders I have received.” This simple and noble language made a profound impression on Raimond V. He bowed his head in silence, remained thoughtful for some minutes, then he descended from the platform. Murmurs inside were distinctly heard, dominated by the ringing voice of the baron. At the same instant the bridge was lowered and the gate opened; Raimond V. appeared, and said to the captain, as he offered his hand with a dignified and cordial air: “Enter, sir, enter; you are a brave and honest soldier. Although my head is white, it is sometimes as foolish as a boy’s. I was wrong. It is true, you must obey the orders which have been given to you. It is not to you, it is to the Marshal of Vitry that I should express my opinion of his conduct toward the Provençal nobility. These brave men ought not to be the victims of my resistance. To-morrow at the break of day, if you will, we will depart for Marseilles.” “Ah, monseigneur,” said the captain, pressing the hand of Raimond V. with emotion, and bowing with respect, “it is now that I really despair of the mission that I am to fulfil.” The baron was about to reply to the captain when a distant, but dreadful noise rose on the air, attracting the attention of all those who filled the court of Maison-Forte. It was like the hollow roar of the sea in its fury.