The lion did not change his position.

“Cain! come here!” repeated Morok in a louder tone.  The appeal was useless; the lion did not move, and the noise continued.

“Cain! come here!” said the Prophet a third time; but, as he pronounced these words, he applied the end of the glowing bar to the haunch of the lion.

Scarcely did the light track of smoke appear on the reddish hide of Cain, when, with a spring of incredible agility, he turned and threw himself against the grating, not crouching, but at a single bound—­upright, superb, terrifying.  The Prophet being at the angle of the cage, Cain, in his fury, had raised himself sideways to face his master, and, leaning his huge flank against the bars, thrust between them his enormous fore leg, which, with his swollen muscles, was as large as Goliath’s thigh.

“Cain! down!” said the Prophet, approaching briskly.

The lion did not obey immediately.  His lips, curling with rage, displayed fangs as long, as large, and as pointed as the tusks of a wild boar.  But Morok touched those lips with the end of the burning metal; and, as he felt the smart, followed by an unexpected summons of his master, the lion, not daring to roar, uttered a hollow growl, and his great body sank down at once in an attitude of submission and fear.

The Prophet took down the lantern to see what Cain had been gnawing.  It was one of the planks from the floor of his den, which he had succeeded in tearing up, and was crunching between his teeth in the extremity of his hunger.  For a few moments the most profound silence reigned in the menagerie.  The Prophet, with his hands behind his back, went from one cage to the other, observing the animals with a restless contemplative look, as if he hesitated to make between them an important and difficult choice.

From time to time he listened at the great door of the shed, which opened on the court-yard of the inn.  At length this door turned on its hinges, and Goliath appeared, his clothes dripping with water.

“Well! is it done?” said the Prophet.

“Not without trouble.  Luckily, the night is dark, it blows hard, and it pours with rain.”

“Then there is no suspicion?”

“None, master.  Your information was good.  The door of the cellar opens on the fields, just under the window of the lasses.  When you whistled to let me know it was time, I crept out with a stool I had provided; I put it up against the wall, and mounted upon it; with my six feet, that made nine, and I could lean my elbows on the window-ledge; I took the shutter in one hand, and the haft of my knife in the other, and, whilst I broke two of the panes, I pushed the shutter with all my might.”

“And they thought it was the wind?”

“Yes, they thought it was the wind.  You see, the ‘brute’ is not such a brute, after all.  That done, I crept back into my cellar, carrying my stool with me.  In a little time, I heard the voice of the old man; it was well I had made haste.”