I never was so much amused in my
life. I am dying to see what they will do with that Scotchman."

[Illustration: THE ANIMATED CELLS]

Athanasius submitted. At the end of one of the cross galleries we
could already see a flickering glimmer of torches. There, evidently,
was held the council. We stole on tiptoe in that direction, and
ensconced ourselves behind a long file of empty bottle-shelves, worn
out after long service and leaning against a wall.

Through the holes which had fixed the bottles in position we could see
everything without being discovered. The grand dignitaries, sitting
in a semicircle, were about to proceed from physical to moral tests.
Before them, his red nose hanging like a cameo from the white bandage
which covered his eyes, and relieved upon his face, still perfectly
white and calm, stood the Scot. The Grand Master arose--I should have
said the Reverend--his head nodding with senility, his beard white as
a waterfall: he appeared to be eighty years of age at least. He was
truly venerable to look at, and reminded me of Thor. He wore a sort of
dalmatica embroidered with gold. Calmness and goodness were so plainly
marked on the aspect of this worthy that I felt ashamed of playing
the spy, and felt inclined to return humbly to the good counsel of
Athanasius, when the latter, pushing my elbow behind the shelves,
said, referring to the Ancient of the Mountain, "That's Fortnoye: I
knew I couldn't be mistaken."

I was greatly mystified at discovering the first tenor voice of
Epernay in an aged man; but the catechism now commencing, I thought
only of listening.

"The barleycorns of your native North having been partially cleaned
out of your hair by contact with the two enchanted steeds--the steed
you bridled without a head, and the steed that ran away with you
without legs," said the Ancient--"we have brought you hither for
examination. We might have gone much farther with the physical tests:
we might have forced you, at the present session, to relieve yourself
of those envelopes considered indispensable by all Europeans beneath
your own latitude, and in our presence perform the sword-dance."

"So be it," said the disciple, executing a galvanic figure with his
legs, his countenance still like marble.

"If we demanded the head of your best friend, would you bring it in?"

"I am the countryman of Lady Macbeth," replied the red nose. "Give me
the daggers."

"We would fain dispense with that proof, n