These documents had been prepared in the underground Chamber of Conference of the Fortress, where secrets might be freely uttered because of the double walls of massive masonry: where flaring torches fastened high in the chamber, scattered the ghostly shadows, and ample potations of the fine wine of the "Commanderie" sustained their courage.
Meanwhile, a slender figure with vizor down, showing a tunic of mail between the folds of a dark mantle, came out from the Fortress, and stepping forth into the gray of the dawn, crossed to the Palazzo Reale, with slow, uncertain footsteps.
"Open!—In the name of the Queen's Council!"
The words came in muffled tones from behind the vizor—uncertain, like the footsteps, yet impossible to disregard.
"The password for this night?" the guard demanded.
It was given at once, but with visible repugnance—"à bas Venezia!"
"Are ye many?"
"But one."
The bars were instantly drawn back and the young knight entered the first court of the palace.