Young Stephen drew out a little flute and blew upon it a spiritual song, which sounded pleasingly far through the mountains. "Leave off that godless blowing," said Favart. "Why godless?" asked Edmond. "It is only a worldly little pipe," said the squinting huntsman, "all these things proceed from the wicked enemy, to ensnare our souls and hearts through sensual pleasure; in simplicity we should think on the Lord and our lips alone should laud and praise him, but not artificially and seducingly, for it is not seemly to make jubelee in our sorrow." "You are too severe," said Stephen, "the birds in the woods praise the Lord and artificially too, in their way." "They have no reason, no soul," said Favart, "they are poor beasts, even if it were the nightingale herself; it is still no praise to the Lord, they do but call their mates, or brood in their nests, their godliness is all a lie." "As you will," said Stephen, at the same time replacing his flute. They came to a number of trees hewn down, and placed so as to form a sort of fence, from out of which a voice exclaimed: "Who goes there?" "Zion!" replied the two guides; and some large birch-trees were pushed backwards, and made way on the narrow path. They passed through. "Where is Roland?" demanded they of the sentinels. "Up there," replied the latter, "under the great Apostle chesnut tree." "We shall soon be there," said Stephen. They already heard a noise in the distance, talking, singing, and also clattering of iron; and now, when they had reached the summit of the wooded mountain plain, Edmond perceived many men in various groups, all brown and burnt by the sun, the greatest part of them in ragged doublets; some appeared to be praying, a few were reading, others were reposing on the grass, several were whetting their jagged swords or cleaning their guns, others were mending their vestments; many sang psalms. A tall wild-looking man advanced towards them, he walked up and down agitatedly with his hands behind his back, huge whiskers descended on either side of his face, his hair was tightly drawn up to the top of his head; "Good day brethren," cried he, in a discordant voice, which Edmond immediately recognised for the same he had heard in the distance on the eventful night. "The hero Catinat!" exclaimed Favart, shaking the gigantic man heartily by the hand, "how fares it with you?" "I am accused brother," said the former, "and Roland will hold no intercourse with me until all his officers, Cavalier and the rest, have spoken respecting me." "Where is Roland?" enquired Edmond, hastily. "It is he yonder, who sits with his bared neck under the chesnut tree," said Catinat.