“To judge a blasphemer!” replied the monks.
“What crime has this blasphemer committed?” continued the interlocutor.
“He has tried to discover the secrets of the Companions of Jehu.”
“What penalty has he incurred?”
“Death.”
The monk at the altar waited, apparently, to give time for the sentence which had just been pronounced to reach the heart of him whom it concerned. Then turning to the Englishman, who continued as calm as if he were at a comedy, he said: “Sir John Tanlay, you are a foreigner and an Englishman—a double reason why you should leave the Companions of Jehu to fight their own battles with the government, whose downfall they have sworn. You failed in wisdom, you yielded to idle curiosity; instead of keeping away, you have entered the lion’s den, and the lion will rend you.”
Then after an instant’s silence, during which he seemed to await the Englishman’s reply, he resumed, seeing that he remained silent: “Sir John Tanlay, you are condemned to death. Prepare to die!”
“Ah! I see that I have fallen into the hands of a band of thieves. If so, I can buy myself off with a ransom.” Then turning to the monk at the altar he asked, “How much do you demand, captain?”
A threatening murmur greeted these insolent words. The monk at the altar stretched out his hand.
“You are mistaken, Sir John. We are not a band of thieves,” said he in a tone as calm and composed as Sir John’s, “and the proof is, that if you have money or jewels upon you, you need only give me your instructions, and they will be remitted either to your family or the person whom you designate.”