A wild looking man, spotted with blood, diminutive and black, his whole face almost overgrown with bristly hair, said grinning: "The old grey-headed knave is certainly a sorcerer, for when I had already killed several of the idolaters, and that he still continued to stand quietly there, and I was vexed that none of my comrades had ever aimed at him, in my fury I advanced to hew him down; already I raised my arm, then the spectre looked quite quietly at me, and his old thin lips smiled at it, almost as if he would have wept, but I tell you, from his large blue eyes such a spell shot through my eyes into my heart, that terrified I let foil my arm and was unable to do any thing to the rascal. A long time after, wishing to rest myself a little, I perceived him still in his black garments like a dark cloud between the combatants, wandering through flame and smoke and over the slain, perfectly collected and as if no one could do him harm. I think he is gone into the burning church and will probably be burned there." Edmond awoke from his dreams to life again at this fearful recital. "Thus, does the guest requite," said he to himself, "the hopeful son of the friend, of thy youth. Is not that called love for love? Now I am no longer indebted to thee for thy hospitable reception." "Hollo! hollo!" shouted Christophe wildly. "Our brethren yonder are bringing the sacrificing priest of Baal. So much the better, he shall be slain here before the eyes of the all seeing God." Edmond cast a withering glance on the wretch, then looked down and recognised already close beneath him the pastor bound, whom Favart, the swarthy Eustace and other Camisards were dragging up. "Here we bring the knave dear brethren," exclaimed Favart, just as they gained a firm footing on the level rock, and dragged up the old man with cords.