“This will never do!” exclaimed Marcilly, and he was about to sound a reminder on the door, when we heard the dog yell as if being beaten off, the clanking of chains, the dropping of a bar, and the door opened, letting in a gust of wind and a sheet of snow that all but extinguished the torch held by a man in the hall. Behind his figure we saw three or four others, farm-servants apparently, armed with clubs and pitchforks. It was no time to hesitate, however, and we stepped in, while the farmer himself, a short, thickset man, who carried a light axe in his hand, reassured us at once. “Step in, messieurs! Step in! ’Tis not a night for a dog to be out, let alone honest men! Here, Gondrin! Pierre! See after the horses! Come in, gentlemen! You are not the first to-night--come in! The horses shall be seen to.” There was no doubting the honest tones of the man’s voice, and, thanking him, we accepted his invitation, leaving Badehorn to supervise the stabling of the horses, a task from which he returned well pleased with their lodging. Entering, we followed our host into what was once the great hall of the old château, but which was now apparently a kitchen, a dining-room, and a _salon_ in one. As the farmer had said, we were not the first who had sought the hospitable shelter of the abbey farm that night. In a chair next to the fire was a priest, evidently of high rank--I caught the glitter of the ring on his hand--and close to him were two or three of his following, all dark-robed and sombre. Some distance away, somewhat in shadow, and at the extreme end of the table, where the fag-ends of supper still remained, sat another wayfarer, his head leaning on his arm, staring moodily before him. On our entrance, this man gave a quick glance at us, and then lowered his head again, so that his features were not distinguishable. The priest took no notice of us, bending low over his breviary, but his suite returned our greetings gravely, and looked at us with interest as we took off our snow-bespattered cloaks, and approached the warmth of the fire, while a brace of brown-armed and dark-haired girls laid out some supper--black bread and cheese, warm milk, and a flagon of Rochecorbon; plain and homely fare, but none the less welcome for all that. On entering the room I had removed the demi-mask I wore as a protection from the weather; but it was not until we reached the full light of the fire that Jean did so, and a look of surprise and astonishment came into the eyes of our host. He glanced from one to the other of us, his hands began to tremble, and so discomposed did he appear, that Jean thought it better to ask to be allowed to sup at once, and, as we took our seats, said something in an undertone to our host, to which the man answered submissively, in an equally low voice.