We ascended flight after flight, and always the guards posted at the top of each saluted us and stepped aside. We passed across a little covered bridge and presently entered a small rotunda, in which a dozen guards were seated, sipping coffee and chatting in low tones. Behind them was an immensely high door marked in large letters COUNCIL HALL To the right and left of it were smaller doors. We entered the door on the right, and the priest, stopping, whispered to me: “You must make no sound. If Sanson is in Council he must not discover us.” I found myself in a small room, with the inevitable door at the farther end. Upon one side were two apertures in the wall, disclosed by sliding panels that moved noiselessly—spy-holes, each as large as the bottom of a teacup. The priest stooped before one and I looked through the other. The immense Council Hall was dim, and it took a few moments for my eyes to grow accustomed to the obscurity. Then I saw at the distant end a raised platform, on which stood two high chairs, like thrones. There were three men upon this platform, one occupying each chair, and the third standing. One was unmistakably Lembken, the obese old boss of the Federation. He wore a trailing gown of white, with a short mull cape about his shoulders, and there were golden ants—as I discovered afterward—stamped all over the fabric. He was lying rather than standing, and his feet rested upon a stool. He was smiling in evil fashion, and he was stout to the verge of disease. I could not see his face distinctly. Upon the second throne sat a man with a fanatic’s face and a square beard of black that swept his breast. He had a large ant badge on either shoulder of his white gown, and on one finger was an immensely heavy ring of gold that projected beyond the knuckles. This was the Deputy Chief Priest. Standing between the two in the shadows, lolling back half-insolently against Boss Lembken’s chair, to whisper in his ear, and again turning to the priest, was Sanson. I could not mistake the whitening hair brushed back, the gestures of intense pride and power, though I could hardly see the face. He wore a tight tunic of white, without a badge, and he bore himself with a complete absence of self-consciousness. There was not a trace of pose in the completeness of that manifested personality, with its alert poise, cat-like and tense, as if each nerve and sinew had been disciplined to serve the master-soul within. As I watched I heard a strident, metallic voice call in loud tones: “Wait till the Goddess awakens and the Messiah comes! He’ll make an end of Sanson and his cruelties, and give us freedom again!”