"I am the superior of the monastery of the Valley of Charolles."
"You lie!" broke in Brunhild. "One of my chamberlains is at the abbey at this hour to seize the superior, and bring him to me in irons."
"Your chamberlain," replied the monk, "your chamberlain, together with the archdeacon and all their armed men, is at this hour a prisoner in the monastery."
To announce such news, no less improbable than offensive to the pride of Brunhild; to announce it to that implacable woman, and thus to expose himself to certain death—the action seemed so exorbitant that the Queen did not believe the monk's words; she shrugged her shoulders with a look of disdainful pity, and said to the major of the palace:
"Duke, that old man is out of his senses. But how did he contrive to enter the palace?"
Other circumstances soon combined to confirm Brunhild's belief in the monk's insanity. Loysik had continued to advance slowly towards the Queen, but despite his spirit's firmness, of which he had given so many a proof during his long life, in the measure that he drew nearer to the horror-inspiring woman, his self-possession gradually forsook him, his mind became troubled, he felt his knees trembling under him, and he was constrained to lean against an ivory stand that was within his reach. The profound, unconquerable emotion was caused by the horror that the Queen inspired in the venerable monk, together with the consciousness of the terrible position in which he found himself.
With his head drooping upon his chest, he sought to collect himself and to gather his thoughts. His eyes wandered over the medal-case that lay upon the ivory stand against which he leaned. The large bronze medal that lay among the others drew to itself the monk's attention all the more readily, seeing that it was the only one of a vulgar metal, all the others being of either gold or silver. At first Loysik contemplated it mechanically, but being presently attracted towards it by an undefinable interest, he stooped over, looked at it more closely, approached his head nearer in order better to see the imprint, and deciphered the inscription that was under the august profile, that seemed to stand out lustrous from the bronze. A thrill ran over the frame of the aged man; a sudden, an extraordinary feeling seized him, a feeling in which enthusiasm, stupor and hope were mingled into one. The confusion into which his mind was thrown an instant before ceased; he felt reassured and strengthened as if he had encountered a support as unexpected as it was powerful; in short, it seemed to him a providential circumstance to encounter—the image of Victoria in the palace of Brunhild.
Loysik had bent down in order to contemplate more closely the features of the Gallic heroine; as he recognized them, he bowed a knee and stretching his arms towards the august effigy, he murmured:
"O, Victoria—holy woman-warrior in behalf of Gaul! Your presence in this horrid place fortifies my soul; it seems to impart to me the necessary strength to save the descendants of Schanvoch, of the faithful soldier whom you called your brother, and who was one of my ancestors!"