By one of the ordinary phenomena of thought, Pierre des Anbiez in one second recalled every detail of bloody tragedy which was the consequence of his love for the wife of Count de Montreuil, the birth of his unfortunate child, the death of Emilie, and the murder of her husband. All of these events came back to his mind with awful precision, as if the crime had been committed the day before. The narrow passage which wound across the rocks enlarged somewhat, and the commander and Honorât issued from this granite wall, and found themselves opposite the ruins of the Abbey of St. Victor. In this spot they beheld no one. The interior basin of the bay formed a deep cove. At the south it was shut in by the rocks through which they had just passed; at the north and at the west, by the half-destroyed buildings of the abbey; at the east could be seen the road in which the two galleys of the pirates were anchored. The imposing pile of the abbey ruins, the wreck of vaults and heavy arches, the crumbling towers covered with ivy, outlined their sad, gray forms upon the black clouds which hung lower and lower over the solemn scene. A wan, bleak day, which was neither light nor darkness, threw a strange and weird radiance over the rocks, the ruins, the beach, and the sea. The waves roared, the wind howled, the thunder rolled, yet no person appeared. Honorât, in spite of his courage, was struck with the awful and dismal scene which lay around him. The commander, wrapped in his long black mantle, his form erect, his face anxious and gloomy, seemed to evoke evil spirits. In a deep, sepulchral voice, he called three times: “Pog-Reis! Pog-Reis! Pog-Reis!” No answer was heard. An enormous owl uttered a doleful cry as it flew slowly and heavily from a vault, as massive as the arch of a bridge, which had once been the entrance to the cloister. “Nobody comes,” said Honorât. “Do you not fear an ambuscade, M. Commander? Perhaps you have placed too much confidence in the words of these wretches.” “Divine vengeance assumes all forms,” replied Pierre des Anbiez. He then relapsed into silence, gazing abstractedly at the heavy arcade, which formerly served as an entrance to the cloister, and whose interior was now enveloped in dense shadow. Suddenly a pale winter ray threw its wan light over this arch, casting a livid, fantastic illumination over the solemn scene. A thunderbolt broke and reverberated, and, by a strange coincidence, at the same moment two men issued from the obscurity of the vault, and with slow and deliberate steps advanced toward the commander and Honorât de Berrol. These men were Pog and Erebus. Pog held a naked sword in his right hand; his left arm was around the neck of Erebus, and he reclined tenderly upon the young man, as a father would lean upon a son. Erebus also held an unsheathed sword in his hand. Both continued to approach the commander and Honorât.