"Come in with me," continued La Renaudie, "and stay by my side; I will tell you the names of those of our brethren whom you do not know. You can judge for yourself of everything else. Come."
He took Gabriel's hand, pressed the secret spring of the concealed door, and together they entered a large oblong hall, where about two hundred persons were gathered.
A few torches scattered here and there cast only a dim light upon the moving groups. Otherwise there was no furniture, nor hangings, nor seats; a common wooden pulpit for the preacher or orator,—that was all.
The presence of a score or so of women explained, but did not justify (let us hasten to say), the scandalous reports which were spread among the Catholics as to these secret nocturnal meetings of the Reformers.
No one noticed the entrance of Gabriel and his guide. All eyes and all thoughts were fixed upon him who stood on the rostrum at that moment, a sectary of sad mien and grave speech.
La Renaudie told Gabriel his name.
"It is Nicolas Duval, a councillor of parliament," he said beneath his breath. "He is just beginning to describe what took place to-day at the Augustins. Listen."
And Gabriel listened.
"Our regular place of meeting at the palace," the orator continued, "being occupied by the preparations for the celebration of Princess Élisabeth's marriage, we sat temporarily for the first time at the Augustins; and in some mysterious way the appearance of that unaccustomed apartment made us from the very first feel a vague presentiment that something out of the usual course would occur.
"However, Giles Lemaître, the president, opened the sitting in the customary form; and there seemed to be nothing to justify the apprehensions by which some of us had been disturbed.