stant, a robust, fair young man. "Let our prophets decide." The deadly pale Duplant immediately came forward, gave a hollow sigh and fell down; on the other side appeared Salomon, a diminutive man, he folded his hands, knelt and threw himself upon the rock. Duplant cried with that peculiarly deep voice: "I tell you the Hero Catinat has only fulfilled my orders!"—scarcely however had he uttered these words, than Salomon already groaned forth; "Follow my servant Roland, for he is my chosen instrument, you know that the blood of the innocent is an abomination to me."
The circle now drew closer together, and in the greatest excitement the pale and swarthy faces were looking over one another’s heads, and between the shoulders of the foremost. Every eye was glowing, and Ravanel exclaimed: "To me also was given the gift of prophecy, listen to me, brethren, for perhaps the Spirit may now come over me." "Stop!" screamed out
