“Are the Senator’s coffers full?—But that is impossible.”
“Bare as a Dominican’s.”
“We are saved, then. He shall name his price for our heads. Money must be more useful to him than blood.”
And as if with that thought all further meditation were rendered unnecessary, Montreal doffed his mantle, uttered a short prayer, and flung himself on a pallet in a corner of the cell.
“I have slept on worse beds,” said the Knight, stretching himself; and in a few minutes he was fast asleep.
The brothers listened to his deep-drawn, but regular breathing, with envy and wonder, but they were in no mood to converse. Still and speechless, they sate like statues beside the sleeper. Time passed on, and the first cold air of the hour that succeeds to midnight crept through the bars of their cell. The bolts crashed, the door opened, six men-at-arms entered, passed the brothers, and one of them touched Montreal.
“Ha!” said he, still sleeping, but turning round. “Ha!” said he, in the soft Provencal tongue, “sweet Adeline, we will not rise yet—it is so long since we met!”
“What says he?” muttered the guard, shaking Montreal roughly. The Knight sprang up at once, and his hand grasped the head of his bed as for his sword. He stared round bewildered, rubbed his eyes, and then gazing on the guard, became alive to the present.
“Ye are early risers in the Capitol,” said he. “What want ye of me?”
“It waits you!”