About the yard lounged a dozen or so men-at-arms, practically all the garrison that was left them since the fight with Garnache two nights ago.
After the last monk had disappeared, she still remained there, expectantly; and when she saw that neither the carriage nor the grooms made their appearance, she stepped up to Fortunio to inquire into the reason of it.
"Surely Monsieur de Condillac rides in that coach," said she.
"Surely," Fortunio answered, himself looking puzzled.

"I will go seek the reason, madame.

Meanwhile will you receive the Abbot?
The monks will have deposited their burden." She composed her features into a fitting solemnity, and passed briskly through to the hall, Tressan ever at her heels.

Here she found the coffin deposited on the table, its great black pall of velvet, silver-edged, sweeping down to the floor.

No fire had been lighted that morning nor had the sun yet reached the windows, so that the place wore a chill and gloomy air that was perhaps well attuned to the purpose that it was being made to serve.
With a rare dignity, her head held high, she swept down the length of that noble chamber towards the Abbot, who stood erect as a pikestaff: at the tablehead, awaiting her.