“‘You, mynheer Jan, you? Of course, of course I know you. I was afraid,’ the old man babbled. ‘I was afraid of him—the mad devil in the chair. He is going to burn the monastery. He has put naphtha in all the rooms. He is going to burn Mont César!’
“The Lieutenant smiled like one who is pleased, and slid down again into his chair. ‘What does he say?’ he asked.
“‘That you are going to burn Mont César.’
“‘Good, good! You are an honest man, Herr monk. I asked you to see if you would lie to me. I understand Flemish. Take the old man away,’ he ordered, turning again to the sentry, ‘then come here.’
“Then, monsieur, there happened the strangest thing of all. The door closed. We stared into each other’s faces, we were like gamblers with all at stake, haggard, eager, watchful—a priest against a soldier.
“The German leaned forward. ‘Herr monk,’ he said in a voice which was like a whisper, ‘I am not going to burn your monastery. You see before you the saviour of Mont César!’
“Monsieur, for one breathless moment I stood like a stone. I could not believe my ears. The man had gone mad, or else I was myself mad.
“‘You see before you the saviour of Mont César,’ he repeated softly.
“I screamed at him. I thought a thousand horrible things in a moment, men pierced on stakes, boiled in oil, crucified. I screamed, ‘Kill me! Kill me quickly, but do not murder me with words. I will not talk with a madman!’