In the meanwhile, the principal vagabonds had retired beneath the porch of the Gondelaurier mansion, and were holding a council of war.
The Duke of Egypt, seated on a stone post, contemplated the phantasmagorical bonfire, glowing at a height of two hundred feet in the air, with religious terror. Clopin Trouillefou bit his huge fists with rage.
“ Impossible to get in!” he muttered between his teeth.
“ An old, enchanted church!” grumbled the aged Bohemian, Mathias Hungadi Spicali.
“ By the Pope’s whiskers!” went on a sham soldier, who had once been in service, “here are church gutters spitting melted lead at you better than the machicolations of Lectoure.”
“ Do you see that demon passing and repassing in front of the fire?” exclaimed the Duke of Egypt.
“ Pardieu, ’tis that damned
