At last he stopped before a great portal surmounted by three statues, those of the Virgin, of Our Lord, and of Saint John the Baptist. The statue of the Virgin, placed directly over the door, formed the apex of the triangle. The two others came down to the cross-piece, forming the branch of the stone cross, in which a double door of massive oak was set, which, more fortunate than certain other portions of the frontal, and more particularly the windows on the first floor, seemed to have survived the ravages of time. "Here it is," said the traveller; "and now to see which of the three statues is that of Saint John." CHAPTER III THE CHARTREUSE OF SEILLON The traveller found the statue he sought standing in the niche at the right of the great door. He brought his horse close to the wall, and standing up in his stirrups, he reached the base of the pedestal of the statue; he slipped his hand into it, felt a ring, drew it to him, and guessed at rather than heard the tinkling of a little bell. This he repeated three times. After the third time he listened. He thought he heard a hesitating step approach the door. "Who rang?" asked a voice. "He who comes in the name of the prophet," replied the traveller. "What prophet?" "He who has left his mantle to his disciples." "What is his name?" "Elisha." "Who is the king of Israel whom the children of Israel must obey?" "Jehu." "What is the house they are to exterminate?" "That of Ahab." "Are you a prophet or a disciple?" "I am a disciple, but I have come to be made a prophet." "Then welcome to the House of the Lord." Scarcely had these words been uttered than the iron bars which held the door were noiselessly removed, the bolts shot as noiselessly back into their sockets, and the door opened silently, as if by magic. The rider and his horse disappeared beneath the arch. The door closed behind them. The man who had opened it so slowly and closed it so quickly approached the new-comer as he dismounted. The latter looked curiously at him. He was dressed in the long white robes of the Carthusian monks, and his hood entirely concealed his head. He took the horse's bridle, but evidently more as a favor than as a duty. In the meantime the traveller unfastened his valise from the saddle, and drawing his pistols from their holsters, put them in his belt with the others. The traveller glanced around him, and seeing no light and hearing no sound, he asked: "Are the Companions absent?" "They have gone on an expedition," replied the brother. "Do you expect them back to-night?" "I hope for them to-night, but I scarcely expect them before to-morrow night." The traveller reflected for a moment. Their absence seemed to disturb him. "I cannot lodge in the town," said he; "I should be afraid of being noticed, if not recognized. Can I wait here for the Companions?" "Yes, if you will give me your word of honor not to attempt to go away." "You have it."