"I did not kill Ursio out of hatred, I only killed him for his part of our inheritance."
"And what else should you have killed your brother for, beast? To eat him up?"
"Did not the great Clovis also kill all his relatives for their heritage, and yet you declare that he entered paradise. I also wish to go there, and I have killed fewer people. If you do not promise paradise to me on the spot and without any further payments, if you refuse to give me absolution, I shall have you torn into pieces by four horses, or hacked to pieces by my leudes."
"And I tell you that if you do not expiate your fratricide by a gift to the Church, you shall go to hell, like a new Cain who killed his brother."
"What you are after is my hundred acres of meadow land, my twenty gold sous, and my pretty little blonde slave."
"What I am after is the salvation of your soul, unhappy man! What I aim at is to save you the torments of hell, the very thought of which should make you shudder with terror."
"You are always talking of hell. Where is hell?"
Bishop Cautin again struck the floor with his feet under the table.
"Count, do you smell that odor of sulphur?"
"Do you see the smoke that is coming up from between those stone slabs?"
"Whence does that smoke proceed?" cried Neroweg affrighted, rising from the table and jumping back from a near place where a thick black vapor was curling upward. "Bishop, what magic is this? Come to my help!"
"Oh, Lord God! You have heard the voice of your unworthy servant!" said Cautin clasping his hands and falling upon his knees. "You wish to manifest yourself to this barbarian!" And turning his head toward Neroweg: "You asked where hell was? Look at your feet--see the abyss--see that sea of flames, all ready to engulf you!"
As the bishop spoke, one of the mosaic slabs sank below the floor, drawn down by an artful contrivance of ropes and weights; a large gap was thus left open, and out of it a whirl of flames leaped up, spreading a suffocating odor of sulphur.
"The earth is opening!" cried the terrorized Frank. "Fire! Fire! My feet burn! Help! Help!"
"It is the everlasting fire," said the bishop rising and striking a threatening attitude, while the count, dropping on both his knees, hid his face in his hands. "Ah! You asked me where hell was, impious, blaspheming brute!"