In the other two corners a medley of faded
scutcheons and banners, which had seen their last Toussaint procession,
mouldered slowly into dust--into much dust. The air of the room was full
of it.
In spite of which the long oak table that filled the middle of the
chamber shone with use: so did the great metal standish which it bore.
And though the seven men who sat about the table seemed, at a first
glance and in that gloomy light, as rusty and faded as the rubbish behind
them, it needed but a second look at their lean jaws and hungry eyes to
be sure of their vitality.
He who sat in the great chair at the end of the table was indeed rather
plump than thin. His white hands, gay with rings, were well cared for;
his peevish chin rested on a falling-collar of lace worthy of a Cardinal.
But though the Bishop's Vicar was heard with deference, it was noticeable
that when he had ceased to speak his hearers looked to the priest on his
left, to Father Pezelay, and waited to hear his opinion before they gave
their own. The Father's energy, indeed, had dominated the Angerins,
clerks and townsfolk alike, as it had dominated the Parisian _devotes_
who knew him well. The vigour which hate inspires passes often for solid
strength; and he who had seen with his own eyes the things done in Paris
spoke with an authority to which the more timid quickly and easily
succumbed.
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