"Let us go to it."
But the hermit himself descended by a steep path. He was an old man, with a hesitating gait and a bent back. He carried the book in which travellers usually write down their impressions.
He placed the book on a stone seat.
"What am I write?" asked the Emperor.
"Your name, Sire, and the date of your visit . . . and anything you please."
The Emperor took the pen which the hermit handed him and bent down to write.
"Take care, Sire, take care!"
Shouts of alarm . . . a great crash from the direction of the chapel. . . . The Emperor turned round. He saw a huge rock come rolling down upon him like a whirlwind.
At the same moment, he was seized round the body by the hermit and flung to a distance of ten yards away.
The rock struck against the stone seat where the Emperor had been standing a quarter of a second before and smashed the seat into fragments. But for the hermit, the Emperor would have been killed.