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He wanted no fracas, and he was still hanging doubtful, measuring the distance between them, when away went his thoughts. What was Grio doing? The Spaniard had come to a stand, and was leaning on the wall, looking idly into the fosse. The posture would have been the most natural in the world on a warm day.
My uncle did," Claude answered rather curtly. He was more and more puzzled by the change in Basterga's manner. Was the big man a poltroon whom the bold front shown to Grio brought to heel? Or was there something behind, some secret upon which his words had unwittingly touched? "He is a good man," Basterga said. "And of the first in Geneva. His brother too, who is Procureur-General.
Have done, I say, or I shall speak, you know to whom!" "Why does he come here? Why does he follow me?" the sot complained. "Cannot you hear that his father lodged here?" "A lie!" Grio cried vehemently. "He is spying on us! First at the 'Bible and Hand' last night, and then here! It is you who are the fool, man. Let me go! Let me at him, I say!" "I shall not!" the big man answered firmly.
"No, nor with power," Basterga answered quietly. "Is it with revenge, then? There are men I know who love revenge. But he is not of the south, and at such a risk revenge were dearly bought." "No, nor with revenge," Basterga replied. "A woman, then? For that is all that is left," Grio rejoined in triumph.
To Grio its aspect was familiar: but in this case familiarity had not removed his awe of the unknown and the magical. He looked about him now, and after a pause: "I suppose you do it with these," he murmured, and with an almost imperceptible shiver he pointed to the crucibles. "With those?"
And there was another way: there were others through whom the thing could be done. Grio, indeed, who had access to the room and the box, was Basterga's creature; and the Syndic dared not tamper with him. But there was a third lodger, a young fellow, of whom the inquiries he had made respecting the house had apprised him.
To rave of Scholarship and Scaliger was one thing, to bring Blondel into the plot which was to transfer Geneva to Savoy and strike the heaviest blow at the Reformed that had been struck in that generation, was another thing and one remote. The Syndic was a trifle discontented and inclined to intrigue; that was true, Grio knew it.
A strange silence, Claude thought, listening and wondering: as strange and embarrassing as the talk of the man who shared with Grio the table by the fireplace: as strange as the atmosphere about them, which hung heavy, to his fancy, and oppressive, fraught with unintelligible railleries, with subtle jests and sneers. The girl went to and fro, from one to another, her face pale, her manner quiet.
The effect was so evident indeed that it bewildered Claude and so completely diverted his attention from Grio, the real target, that when the bully, who had listened stupidly to the exchange of wit, proved by a brutal oath his comprehension of the reference to himself, the young man scarcely heard him. "The Syndic Blondel?" Basterga muttered after a pregnant pause. "What know you of him, pray?"
The young man hesitated, took with a curling lip the glass which was presented to him, and then, a blush rising to his eyes, pushed it from him. "'Tis good wine," the landlord repeated. "And no charge. Drink, young sir, and " "I drink not on compulsion!" the student answered. Messer Grio stared. "What?" he roared. "You "
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