“Yes, yes, go in, the key is in the door,” repeated the chorus of guests, with a sneer which seemed a sinister omen to the recorder. Exasperated beyond measure, but keeping himself at a respectful distance from the door, the recorder said to his scribe: “Clerk, go and open this door; let us make an end of--” “But, Master Isnard--” “Obey, clerk, obey,” said the recorder, still drawing back. The poor scribe showed the register which he held in one hand, and the pen that he held in the other. “My hands are not free. I must be ready to draw up an official report. If some sorcery bursts out of that door, ought I not, on the very instant, enter it upon my verbal process?” These reasons appeared to make some impression on the recorder. “Little John, open that door,” said he to the lackey. “Oh, master, I dare not,” replied Little John, getting behind the recorder. “Do you hear me, you wretch?” “Yes, sir, but I dare not; there is some sorcery there.” “But, on my oath, if you--” “If the salvation of my soul depended on it, sir, I would not open it,” said Little John, in a resolute tone. “Come, come!” said the recorder, overcome with vexation, as he addressed the halberdiers, “it will be said, my brave fellows, that you alone acted as men in this stupid affair! Open that door, and put an end to this ridiculous scene.” The two guards retreated a step, and one of them said: “Listen, Master Isnard, we are here to give you assistance as far as we are able, if any one rebels against your orders, but no one forbids you to enter. The key is in the door; enter alone, if you wish to do so.” “What, an old pandour like you afraid!” The halberdier shook his head, and said: “Listen, Master Isnard, halberds and swords are worth nothing here; what we need is a priest with his stole, and a holy water sprinkler in his hand.” “Michael is right, Master Isnard,” said the other guard; “it is my opinion that we will have to do what was done to exorcise the dolphins that infested the coast last year.” “If that dog of a Bohemian had not run away like a coward,” said the recorder, stamping his foot with rage, “he might have opened the door.” Then, happening to turn his head, the recorder discovered several men and women standing at the windows of Maison-Forte; they were partially hidden by the basement, but were looking curiously into the court. More from self-esteem than courage, Master Isnard, seeing that he was observed by so many persons, walked deliberately to the door, and put his hand on the key. At that moment his heart failed him. He heard in the magazine a rumbling noise and extraordinary excitement, which he had not detected before. The sounds were harsh, with nothing human in them. A magic charm seemed to fasten the recorder’s hand to the key in the door. “Come, recorder, my boy, go on! there you are! go on!” cried one of the guests, clapping his hands.