“Then you are king!” cried the cardinal to the duke; “take the precious paper.”
The king overturned the little lamp which alone lighted the scene, but the duke already held the parchment.
“What shall we do?” said a monk. “Here is Crillon, with his guards, threatening to break in the doors!”
“In the king’s name!” cried the powerful voice of Crillon.
“There is no king!” cried Gorenflot through the window.
“Who says that?” cried Crillon.
“I! I!”
“Break in the doors, Monsieur Crillon!” said, from outside, a voice which made the hair of all the monks, real and pretended, stand on end.
“Yes, sire,” replied Crillon, giving a tremendous blow with a hatchet on the door.
“What do you want?” said the prior, going to the window.