The conjuration being done, the stable blacksmiths drew forth from the stove, with the aid of long tongs, the nine red-hot plow-shares that they held in readiness, and laid them down in a row flat upon the stone floor at a distance of two or three inches from one another. Ranged in that order, they presented a strange aspect--an enormous red-hot gridiron. "Quick!" said the count. "The irons must not be allowed to cool off." "What a jig will not the cub dance on that row of burning irons, if he was in the plot with the other thief to steal your dish!" "And yet what a wondrous miracle is about to be accomplished if the cook is really innocent!" remarked another leude with impatient curiosity. "To walk over red-hot plow-shares without burning one's feet! It takes the God of the Christians to accomplish such a miracle!" Such was the curiosity of the Franks that their cruel wish to see the slave dance upon the red-hot irons struggled strongly against the wish to witness a wonderful miracle. Hardly was the last plow-share ranged in its place upon the floor than Neroweg, fearing to have them cool off, called out impatiently to Justin: "Quick! Quick! Walk over them!" "Go, my dear son; fear naught!" added the clerk. "Oh, I am not afraid, good father," answered the cook in a voice of inspired exaltation; and crossing his arms over his breast, he cried out fervently: "Lord God, Thou readest in the hearts of men; Thou hast already borne witness to my innocence--give in favor of Thy servant a new proof of Thy infallible justice--order the burning irons to be as soft under my feet as if I trod upon a carpet of moss and flowers!" And, his face beaming with serenity, and his eyes raised heavenward, the Gallic slave moved with firm steps towards the gridiron of red-hot plow-shares. During the short interval that elapsed before the accused exposed himself to the _judgment of God_, the count, his clerk and all the witnessing Franks seemed impressed by the slave's imperturbable confidence; they looked at one another; and Neroweg said in a low voice to the leudes that sat beside him: "The cook must be truly innocent of the theft." "Proceed! March on, my son in God!" cried the clerk at the moment when Justin was raising his foot over the first plow-share. "The justice of the Eternal is infallible. You said it--it is over a carpet of moss and flowers that your feet are to walk." But our fervent Catholic had barely touched the red-hot iron with his feet when he emitted a frightful shriek. So intensely unbearable was the pain that he tripped and fell down forward on his knees and hands. As he thus tumbled over the red-hot plow-shares he gave himself fresh and deep burns all over his body, until, driven crazy, he made a desperate bound clean over the implements of his torture, and, roaring with pain, rolled down over the floor ten paces away, near where his companion Peter lay, tied hand and foot.