The Swiss walked with ringing foot toward the stairway, and dropped upon
one knee to unbar the door in the pavement. He took a key from his
pocket and turned it in the lock, and, as he lifted the heavy leaf of
beams and crosspieces, his lady held over the darkness a candle, which
she had taken from one of the buffet sconces. Out of the vault rose a
chill breath from which the candle flame recoiled.

"Monsieur," she spoke downward, "will you have the goodness to come up
with your companion?"

Her voice resounded in the hollow; and some movement occurred below as
soft-spoken answer was made:--

"We come, madame."

A cassocked Jesuit appeared under the light, followed by a man wearing
the ordinary dress of a French colonist. They ascended the stone steps,
and Klussman replaced the door with a clank which echoed around the
hall. Marie gave him the candle, and with clumsy touch he fitted it to
the sconce while she led her prisoners to the fire. The Protestant was
able to dwell with disapproval on the Jesuit's black gown, though it
proved the hard service of a missionary priest; the face of Father
Jogues none but a savage could resist.

His downcast eyelids were like a woman's, and so was his delicate mouth.
The cheeks, shading inward from their natural oval, testified to a life
of hardship. His full and broad forehead, bordered by a fringe of hair
left around his tonsure, must have overbalanced his lower face, had that
not been covered by a short beard, parted on the upper lip and peaked at
the end. His eyebrows were well marked, and the large-orbed eyes seemed