Both Bertel and Pekka had hard work to restrain their laughter, notwithstanding their critical position, when they saw Larsson at once white from fright and black from the fluid he had drank and spat out again.
"Be more careful another time," said Bertel, "and you will avoid drinking ink."
"Ink! I might have known that the earless scrawler would be up to some devilry. Two things trouble me to-night more than all the autos-da-fé: that the sweet Ketchen, with the soft hands, deceived us, and that I have swallowed the most useless stuff in the world—ink, bah!"*
* Here Captain Svanholm trod on Cousin Svenonius' toes, and the latter thoughtfully took a pinch of snuff.
"If we had nothing else to do I could show you something that ink has done," rejoined Bertel, as he hastily turned over a pile of papers on the writing-table. "Here is a letter from the archbishop ... he is coming to-morrow ... we are to be solemnly burned ... they will tempt us to abjure our faith, and promise us grace ... but burn us, nevertheless! Infamous!"
"Roman!" observed the captain phlegmatically.
In the meantime Larsson had drawn out three monks' cloaks and hoods; they put them on, and now ventured to proceed farther on their dangerous enterprise.
The next two rooms were empty. Two common beds indicated that some menial monks had here their abode, and were now gone to mass.
"Bravo," whispered Larsson, "they will take us for sheep in wolves' clothing, and believe that we are also going to attend mass. Hist! didn't you hear something? A woman's voice. Be still!"
They stopped, and heard in the darkness a young female's voice, praying: