A figure stole in beside Alixe. It was Mademoiselle Lotbiniere, who
immediately was followed by her mother. I leaned forward, perfectly
hidden, and listened to the singsong voices of the priests, the
musical note of the responses, heard the Kyrie Eleison, the
clanging of the belfry bell as the host was raised by the trembling
bishop. The silence which followed the mournful voluntary played by
the organ was most painful to me.

At that moment a figure stepped from behind a pillar, and gave
Alixe a deep, scrutinizing look. It was Doltaire. He was graver
than I had ever seen him, and was dressed scrupulously in black,
with a little white lace showing at the wrists and neck. A
handsomer figure it would be hard to see; and I hated him for it,
and wondered what new devilry was in his mind. He seemed to sweep
the church with a glance. Nothing could have escaped that swift,
searching look. His eyes were even raised to where I was, so that
I involuntarily drew back, though I knew he could not see me.

I was arrested suddenly by a curious disdainful, even sneering
smile which played upon his face as he looked at Vaudreuil and
Bigot. There was in it more scorn than malice, more triumph than
active hatred. All at once I remembered what he had said to me
the day before: that he had commission from the King through La
Pompadour to take over the reins of government from the two
confederates, and send them to France to answer the charges made
against them.

At last the bishop came forward, and read from a paper as follows: