Beyond doubt, like the first affiliated1 member met on the road to Sue by the man who styled himself prophet, the monk2 who opened the gate was of secondary rank in the fraternity; for, grasping the horse’s bridle3, he held it while the rider dismounted, rendering4 the young man the service of a groom5.
Morgan got off, unfastened the valise, pulled the pistols from the holsters, and placed them in his belt, next to those already there. Addressing the monk in a tone of command, he said: “I thought I should find the brothers assembled in council.”
“They are assembled,” replied the monk.
“Where?”
“At La Correrie. Suspicious persons have been seen prowling around the Chartreuse these last few days, and orders have been issued to take the greatest precautions.”
The young man shrugged6 his shoulders as if he considered such precautions useless, and, always in the same tone of command, said: “Have some one take my horse to the stable and conduct me to the council.”
The monk summoned another brother, to whom he flung the bridle. He lighted a torch at a lamp, in the little chapel7 which can still be seen to the right of the great portal, and walked before the new-comer. Crossing the cloister8, he took a few steps in the garden, opened a door leading into a sort of cistern9, invited Morgan to enter, closed it as carefully as he had the outer door, touched with his foot a stone which seemed to be accidentally lying there, disclosed a ring and raised a slab10, which concealed11 a flight of steps leading down to a subterraneous passage. This passage had a rounded roof and was wide enough to admit two men walking abreast12.
The two men proceeded thus for five or six minutes, when they reached a grated door. The monk, drawing a key from his frock, opened it. Then, when both had passed through and the door was locked again, he asked: “By what name shall I announce you?”
“As Brother Morgan.”
“Wait here; I will return in five minutes.”
The young man made a sign with his head which showed that he was familiar with these precautions and this distrust. Then he sat down upon a tomb—they were in the mortuary vaults13 of the convent—and waited. Five minutes had scarcely elapsed before the monk reappeared.
“Follow me,” said he; “the brothers are glad you have come. They feared you had met with some mishap14.”
A few seconds later Morgan was admitted into the council chamber15.
Twelve monks16 awaited him, their hoods17 drawn18 low over their eyes. But, once the door had closed and the serving brother had disappeared, while Morgan was removing his mask, the hoods were thrown back and each monk exposed his face.
No brotherhood19 had ever been graced by a more brilliant assemblage of handsome and joyous20 young men. Two or three only of these strange monks had reached the age of forty. All hands were held out to Morgan and several warm kisses were imprinted21 upon the new-comer’s cheek.
“‘Pon my word,” said one who had welcomed him most tenderly, “you have drawn a mighty22 thorn from my foot; we thought you dead, or, at any rate, a prisoner.”
“Dead, I grant you, Amiet; but prisoner, never! citizen—as they still say sometimes, and I hope they’ll not say it much longer. It must be admitted that the whole affair was conducted on both sides with touching23 amenity24. As soon as the conductor saw us he shouted to the postilion to stop; I even believe he added: ‘I know what it is.’ ‘Then,’ said I, ‘if you know what it is, my dear friend, our explanations needn’t be long.’ ‘The government money?’ he asked. ‘Exactly,’ I replied. Then as there was a great commotion25 inside the carriage, I added: ‘Wait! first come down and assure these gentlemen, and especially the ladies, that we are well-behaved folk and will not harm them—the ladies; you understand—and nobody will even look at them unless they put their heads out of the window.’ One did risk it; my faith! but she was charming. I threw her a kiss, and she gave a little cry and retired26 into the carriage, for all the world like Galatea, and as there were no willows27 about, I didn’t pursue her. In the meantime the guard was rummaging28 in his strong-box in all expedition, and to such good purpose, indeed, that with the government money, in his hurry, he passed over two hundred louis belonging to a poor wine merchant of Bordeaux.”
“Ah, the devil!” exclaimed the brother called Amiet—an assumed name, probably, like that of Morgan—“that is annoying! You know the Directory, which is most imaginative, has organized some bands of chauffeurs29, who operate in our name, to make people believe that we rob private individuals. In other words, that we are mere30 thieves.”
“Wait an instant,” resumed Morgan; “that is just what makes me late. I heard something similar at Lyons. I was half-way to Valence when I discovered this breach31 of etiquette32. It was not difficult, for, as if the good man had foreseen what happened, he had marked his bag ‘Jean Picot, Wine Merchant at Fronsac, Bordeaux.’”
“And you sent his money back to him?”
&ld............