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“Deceive not thyself, insensate villain,” rejoined Rodomont. “’Tis the Prince of Darkness who hath inspired the black design. He has deserted thee, as he deserts all his servants.”

“I am no bond slave of Satan, but a faithful servant of the Most High,” said Carver. “It was Heaven’s wish that I should fail; but though my sword has been turned aside, there are others left that shall find the tyrant out.”

“There is clearly some conspiracy on foot,” said Osbert, who by this time had joined the Prince. “I have my own suspicions at its author, which I will presently communicate to your Highness. But that these are hired assassins is certain. By their own showing, they were to have a hundred rose-nobles each for the deed.”

“Said I not right that Beelzebub was at the bottom of it?” cried Rodomont. “A hundred rose-nobles! Is that the sum for which thou hast bartered thy soul, thou damnable Derrick? Wert thou to be paid in French coin—ha! Carver?”

“Your suspicions tend the same way as mine own, I perceive, Sir,” observed Osbert.