First of all, he was in a great cathedral, sombre and vast, and
by the dim light of the candles he saw that some solemn ceremony was
going forward. Priests, mitred and robed, sat in a semicircle in front
of the altar; on the altar-steps were three figures; behind the altar a
space of gloom, from whence issued the soft, clear singing of the
choristers. Then, suddenly, into that clear sweet singing broke a loud
blare of trumpets; a man bounded on to the altar-steps; there was the
flash of a blade--a shriek--a fall; then the roar of a crowd, sullen,
and distant, and awful. It is the cry of a great city; and this poor
crouching fugitive, who hides behind the fountain in the Place, is
watching for his chance to dart away into some place of safety. But the
crowd have let him pass; they are merciful; they are glad of the death
of their enemy; it is only the police he has to fear. What lane is dark
enough? What ruins must he haunt, like a dog, in the night-time? But the
night is full of fire, and the stars overhead are red, and everywhere
there is a roar and a murmur--_the assassination of the Cardinal_!
Well, it is quieter in this dungeon; and soon there will be an end, and
peace.
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