Bartoletti, too, shivered, though with less reason. Captain George nodded approvingly, and Bras-de-Fer pulled the buckle of his sword-belt to the front.
"You may ask three questions," whispered the shaking Italian. "Not another syllable, if you would leave the cave alive!"
The Duke cleared his throat to speak, and his voice came dry and husky, while he formed the words with effort, like a man using a foreign tongue.
"I adjure you, tell me truly, who is my chief enemy?"
Not one of them drew breath whilst they waited for the answer; and the questioner himself looked down to see that his feet were scrupulously within the pentacle.
It came sad, solemn, and as if from a distance, chanted in a full, mournful and melodious tone:—
"The foes a prince behoves to dread, that turn and tear their lord,
Are those that haunt about his bed, and blush beside his board."
Then the Regent, gaining courage, asked in a firmer voice, "Who is my best friend?"
The reply was more distinct, and its clear emphasis seemed to vouch for the speaker's truth, Father of Lies though he might be called:—
"One friend is thine, whose silent kiss clings subtle, sure, and fast;
When all shall fail, yet shall not this, the swiftest, though the last."
Thus encouraged, the royal questioner gathered heart with every fresh answer, and it was in his customary unrestrained tone that he propounded his last inquiry, "Shall I live to wear the crown of France?"
This time, however, the phantom arm waved backwards and forwards, clenching its gigantic hand, while the demon's voice seemed again to rise from distant and mysterious depths, as it replied:—
"When woman's love can trust thy vows, when woman's guileless glance
Can thrill thy breast, bind on thy brows the diadem of France!
Enough! For more I dare not tell. Glad life, and lusty reign!
Predestined Prince, and fare thee well!—till we shall meet again!"
In five minutes all were once more in the open air. The
