“So much the better, old man! We shall not be kept waiting at the door.”
“Think of the abominable act which polluted it!”
“Well, let it purify itself by sheltering us. Come, old man, follow me. I tell you that on such a night I would test the hospitality of a den of thieves.”
Then, in spite of the old man’s remonstrances, he grasped his arm and hastened toward the building, which, as the frequent flashes showed him, was close at hand. As they approached, they saw a light in one of the loopholes of the tower.
“You see,” said the young man, “that this tower is not deserted. You feel easier now, no doubt.”
“Oh, my God! my God!” cried the old man, “where are you taking me, master? Saint Hospitius forbid that I should enter that oratory of the Devil!”
They had now reached the foot of the tower. The young traveller knocked loudly at the new door of this much dreaded ruin.
“Calm yourself, old man. Some pious hermit has come hither to sanctify this profane abode by dwelling in it.”
“No,” said his comrade, “I will not enter. I’ll answer for it that no monk can live here, unless he has one of Beelzebub’s seven chains for a chaplet.”
However, a light had descended from one narrow window to another, and now shone through the key-hole.