Little by little Laurence raised himself upon the grooved slab until, standing erect, he could see some small part of the whitewashed, red-floored chamber he remembered so well—­only a strip, however, extending from the door through which he looked to the great fireplace whereon the heaped wood had already been kindled.

At first all was confused.  Laurence saw Henriet and Poitou going hastily here and there, as servitors do who prepare for a great function.  Then came a pause, heavy with doom.  On the back of this he heard or seemed to hear the frightened pleading of a child, the short, sharp commands of a soldier’s voice, a sound as of a blow stricken, and then again a whimpering hush.  Laurence leaned against the wall with his face in his hands.  He dared not look within.  Then he lifted his head, and lo! in the gloom it seemed as if the huge image had turned towards him, and in a pleased, confidential way were nodding approval of his presence.

He heard the voice of the Marshal de Retz again—­this time kindly, and even affectionate.  Some one was not to be frightened.  Some one was to take a draught from the goblet and fear nothing.  They would not hurt him.  They had but played with him.

Again Henriet and Poitou passed and repassed, and once Gilles de Sille flashed across the interspace handing a broad-edged gleaming knife swiftly and surreptitiously to some one unseen.

Then came a short, sharp cry of agony, a gurgling moan, and black, blank, unutterable horror shut down on Laurence’s spirit.

He sank down on his face behind the door and covered his eyes and ears with his hands.  So he lay for a space without motion, almost without sense, upon the naked grooves of the marble slab.  When he came to himself, a dusky light was diffused through the chapel.  As he looked he saw La Meffraye come to the door and set her face within, like some bird of night, hideous and foul.  Then she returned and Gilles de Sille and Clerk Henriet came into the chapel bearing between them a great golden cup, filled (as it seemed by the care with which they carried it) to the very brim with some precious liquid.

To them, all clad in a priest’s robe of flame-coloured velvet, succeeded the Lord of Retz himself.  He held in his hand like a service-book the great manuscript written in red, which he had been transcribing at Sybilla’s entrance, and as he walked he chanted, with a strange intonation, words that thrilled the very soul of the young man listening.

And yet, as Laurence looked forth from his hiding-place, it appeared that the black statue nodded once more to him as one who would say, “Take note and remember what thou seest; for one day thy testimony shall be needful.”

These were the words he heard in the chanting monotone: 

“O great and mighty Barran-Sathanas—­my only lord and master, whom with all due observance I do worship, look mercifully upon this the sacrifice of innocent blood; let it be grateful to thee—­to whom all evil is as the breath of life!