“Nay, not a man in the Castle will enter those vaults after sunset, Sir Knight.  The Albigenses, Sir Eustace!”

“I will take the risk alone,” said Eustace.  “Hand me a torch there!”

Gaston took another, and Thibault Sanchez, seeing them so resolute, chose to be of the party.  The torches shed their red glare over the stone arches on which the Castle rested, and there was a chill damp air and earthy smell, which made both Knight and Squire shudder and start.  No sooner had they entered than Thibault, trembling exclaimed, in a tone of horror, “There! there!  O blessed Lady, protect us!”

“Where?” asked Eustace, scarce able to defend himself from an impression of terror.

“’Tis gone—­yet methought I saw it again.—­There! look yonder, Sir Knight—­something white fluttering behind that column!”

Gaston crossed himself, and turned pale; but Eustace had settled his nerves.  “A truce with these vain follies, Master Seneschal,” said he, sternly.  “Those who know Le Borgne Basque cannot believe his fears, either of saints or demons, to be other than assumed.”

No ghost could have startled the Seneschal of the Chateau Norbelle as much as this sobriquet.  He fell back, and subsided into complete silence, as he meditated whether it were best to confess the plot, and throw himself upon Sir Eustace’s mercy, or whether he could hope that this was merely a chance recognition.  He inclined to the latter belief when he observed that the Knight was at fault respecting the secret passage, searching in vain through every part of the vault, and twice passing over the very spot.  The third time, however, it so chanced that his spur rung against something of metal, and he called for Gaston to hold his torch lower.  The light fell not only upon an iron ring, but upon a guard which evidently covered a key-hole.

Sanchez, after in vain professing great amazement, and perfect ignorance of any such entrance, gave up his bunch of keys, protesting that there was nothing there which could unlock the mysterious door:  but the Knight had another method.  “Look you, Master Sanchez,” said he, “it may be, as you say, that this door hath not been unclosed for hundreds of years, notwithstanding I see traces in the dust as if it had been raised of late.  I shall, however, sleep more securely if convinced that it is an impossibility to lift it.  Go, therefore, Gaston, and call half a dozen of the men, to bring each of them the heaviest stone they can find from that heap I saw prepared for a mangonel in the court-yard.”

“Oh, excellent!” exclaimed Gaston, “and yet, Sir Eustace—­”

There he stopped, but it was evident that he was reluctant to leave his master alone with this villain.  Eustace replied by drawing his good sword, and giving him a fearless smile, as he planted his foot upon the trap-door; and fixing his gaze upon Le Borgne Basque, made him feel that this was no moment for treachery.