A very small one yielded to his efforts, and he found himself in a cell in the midst of Monseigneur's valets, who were dressed in black suits with chains on their necks.
His hurried manner made these gentlemen think that he had been sent by the bishop, and they let him pass.
He went some steps further on, and found himself in an immense Gothic hall, which was extremely dark, and completely wainscotted in black oak. The ogive windows had all been walled in with brick except one.
There was nothing to disguise the coarseness of this masonry, which offered a melancholy contrast to the ancient magnificence of the woodwork.
The two great sides of this hall, so celebrated among Burgundian antiquaries, and built by the Duke, Charles the Bold, about 1470 in expiation of some sin, were adorned with richly sculptured wooden stalls.
All the mysteries of the Apocalypse were to be seen portrayed in wood of different colours.
This melancholy magnificence, debased as it was by the sight of the bare bricks and the plaster (which was still quite white) affected Julien.
He stopped in silence.
He saw at the other extremity of the hall, near the one window which let in the daylight, a movable mahogany mirror.
A young man in a violet robe and a lace surplice, but with his head bare, was standing still three paces from the glass.
This piece of furniture seemed strange in a place like this, and had doubtless been only brought there on the previous day.
Julien thought that the young man had the appearance of being irritated. He was solemnly giving benedictions with his right hand close to the mirror.
"What can this mean," he thought.
"Is this young priest performing some preliminary ceremony?
Perhaps he is the bishop's secretary. He will be as insolent as the lackeys. Never mind though! Let us try."
He advanced and traversed somewhat slowly the length of the hall, with his gaze fixed all the time on the one window, and looking at the young man who continued without any intermission bestowing slowly an infinite number of blessings.
The nearer he approached the better he could distinguish his angry manner.
The richness of the lace surplice stopped Julien in spite of himself some paces in front of the mirror.
"It is my duty to speak," he said to himself at last.
But the beauty of the hall had moved him, and he was already upset by the harsh words he anticipated.
The young man saw him in the mirror, turned round, and suddenly discarding his angry manner, said to him in the gentlest tone,
"Well, Monsieur, has it been arranged at last?"
Julien was dumbfounded.
As the young man began to turn towards him, Julien saw the pectoral cross on his breast.
It was the bishop of Agde.
"As young as that," thought Julien.
"At most six or eight years older than I am!"
He was ashamed of his spurs.
"Monseigneur," he said at last, "I am sent by M. Chelan, the senior of the chapter."
"Ah, he has been well recommended to me," said the bishop in a polished tone which doubled Julien's delight,
"But I beg your pardon, Monsieur, I mistook you for the person who was to bring me my mitre.
It was badly packed at Paris. The silver cloth towards the top has been terribly spoiled.
It will look awful," ended the young bishop sadly,
"And besides, I am being kept waiting."
"Monseigneur, I will go and fetch the mitre if your grace will let me."
Julien's fine eyes did their work.
"Go, Monsieur," answered the bishop, with charming politeness.
"I need it immediately.
I am grieved to keep the gentlemen of the chapter waiting."
When Julien reached the centre of the hall, he turned round towards the bishop, and saw that he had again commenced giving benedictions.
"What can it be?" Julien asked himself.
"No doubt it is a necessary ecclesiastical preliminary for the ceremony which is to take place."
When he reached the cell in which the valets were congregated, he saw the mitre in their hands.
These gentlemen succumbed in spite of themselves to his imperious look, and gave him Monseigneur's mitre.
He felt proud to carry it.
As he crossed the hall he walked slowly.
He held it with reverence.
He found the bishop seated before the glass, but from time to time, his right hand, although fatigued, still gave a blessing.
Julien helped him to adjust his mitre.
The bishop shook his head.