"Bacchus be with you."
The chorus answered, "And with thy pint-pots."
Then came the Oratio—
"Let us eat. O all-powerful Bacchus, since thou hast created this society of ours for thine own honor, grant to us its continuance, and give to us a constant supply of brave topers, who never may cease drinking from goblet to goblet."
And the chorus answered, "Stramen."
The countess was not able any longer to hold herself up. She sank upon her knees, and looked up at the priest in mute horror. Hardly knowing what she did, she gazed in utter despair at the tall figure lit up as it was by the rays of the moon, which played round his head like a halo.
The abbé put the key into the lock of the chapel door. The countess caught his hand; her fright amounted to agony.
"Do not—do not open it!" she cried. "Inside is hell let loose."
With an elevation of his head, the abbé answered proudly—
"Nec portæ inferi—the gates of hell shall not prevail"; and then he turned the key, and the heavy iron door swung open, and disclosed the actors in the strange drama.