The recorder began to realise that it required much ceremony to introduce him to the baron, when suddenly the windows were opened, and ten or twelve gentlemen, in handsome hunting-suits, booted and spurred, holding a glass in one hand and a napkin in the other, rushed out on the balcony, shouting and laughing at the top of their voices. At their head was Raimond V. It was easy to see by the flushed cheeks of these joyous companions that they had just arisen from the table, and had emptied more than one bottle of Spanish wine. The convivial friends of Raimond V. belonged to the nobility of the neighbourhood, and were all known for their hatred of Marshal of Vitry, and open or secret opposition to Cardinal Richelieu. Honorât de Berrol and Reine, utterly powerless to dissuade the baron from his dangerous projects, had retired into one of the apartments in the tower. The recorder began to think he was mistaken in counting on a favourable reception from the baron; he even feared that he might be made the victim of some infernal trick, as he saw the clamorous gaiety of the guests of Maison-Forte, especially when he recognised among the number the old lord of Signerol, who had rudely refused him entrance into his castle. However, he tried to put a good face on the matter, and followed by his clerk, who was trembling in every limb, he advanced to the balcony with his two halberdiers at his heels. Addressing himself to Raimond V., who was leaning over the balcony railing and looking contemptuously on the company below, he said: “In the name of the king and his Eminence, the cardinal--” “The cardinal to the devil! Let his infernal Eminence return to the place he came from!” shouted several gentlemen, interrupting the recorder’s speech. “Beelzebub, at this moment, is making a red brass hat for his Eminence,” said the lord of Signerol. “The girdles of his Eminence ought to be good rope for hanging!” said another. “Let the recorder have his say, gentlemen,” said the baron, turning to his guests, “let him speak, my friends,--it is not by a single note that you recognise the bird of the night. Come on, Manjour! speak, recorder, speak, read out your scrawl!” The clerk, completely demoralised, and doubtless meditating a retreat, turned his head away from the door, and discovered with dismay that the bridge had been withdrawn. “Master Isnard,” whispered he, with broken voice, “we are caught in a mouse-trap; they have carried away the bridge.” Notwithstanding the self-possession he affected, the recorder looked over his shoulder, and said, in a low voice: “Clerk, order the halberdiers to approach without attracting attention.” The clerk obeyed; the little band concentrated in the middle of the court, with the exception of the Bohemian. Standing at the foot of the balcony, he seemed to contemplate with curiosity the gentlemen gathered there.