"Why are you thus unjust?" said Lacoste smiling, "it affords me inexpressible pleasure to hear for once so cool and impartial a philosopher reason thus conclusively. One does not meet every day with anything so good." The others became outrageous, and were still more fervent in their prayers. Ravanel foamed and continued crying out: "But how pious is the world, how mildly the brand still searches into the bowels of all! Then man came forth, the image of God, as he calls himself, and now in him hell first broke out in glowing, purple triumph, the loud joyful laugh of inward horror. Whatever subtilty can invent, imagination create, the wildest dream depict, and voluptuousness can attain, will turn into martyrdom, into cutting off the beings that give themselves out as their brother. All the pulses of the everlasting Satan beat joyously. Here is God! exclaims the brood, murder, torture them! here is Christ! roar the others, and slay the adversaries. Does an eye from heaven behold? Do the stars know of us? will the lost, the nameless one after eternity find himself once more in his, by himself accursed creation, and will he not then send forth, epidemics, pestilences, famines, fiery flames, and floods of waters, together with earth-quakes and a thousand all-powerful deaths on white horses, in order to crush this his brood, to grind, to powder into nothing, who scandalously imagine that the sparks of his spirit dwell in them. He, He himself inspires them? Yea no future hell; we are it and live in it, prophecied from the ancient prophets mouth. We dust of dust, we curse of curse!" Now the prayer of the prophet seemed to operate with greater fervour, for the voice of Ravanel died away, he appeared to sink into slumber totally exhausted, and Lacoste said: "Oh that this pithy syllogism should be thus interrupted, he might have added to the preceding several other arguments just as bold and subtle." Bertrand now returned with the courier prisoner, whom he had met in the ravine. "Behold," said Lacoste to himself, "all corresponds, either these are slyer devils, than they have ever been considered, or there is some other devilry in the game, which is still strange enough." The courier, a rather elderly man, was raised from his horse, his dispatches had already been taken from him. "Who are you?" asked Cavalier. "Ah your excellency," stammered the embarrassed man, "Now I am, indeed, nothing but an insignificant ambassador, formerly a surgeon in the royal guards." "Your Name?" "Dubois, by your leave."