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Updated: June 23, 2025
It encouraged the others to carry their brutality to greater and even greater lengths. Grio flung a gross jest in the girl's face: Basterga asked her mockingly how long she had loved. They got no answer; on which the big man asked his question again, his voice grown menacing; and still she would not answer.
"Call them!" she cried, in a clear voice. "Call the watch, Messer Syndic, and I will tell them the whole story. What Messer Blondel would have had me do, and get, and give." "It was for the State!" the Syndic hissed. "And is it for the State that you come to-day with that man?" she retorted, and with her outstretched finger she accused Basterga of unspoken things. "That man!
"Nec volucres plumæ faciunt nec cuspis Achillem! Construe me that then if you will!" Basterga shrugged his shoulders. "Fine feathers do not make fine birds!" he said. "If you apply it to me," he continued with a contemptuous face, "I " "Oh, no, to your company," Claude answered. Self-control comes hardly to the young, and he had already forgotten his rôle.
Once he had spoken out, he had put himself on a level with his master; he had worsted him, or he was much mistaken. "Perhaps, from the way you have played with the little prude below, it is a woman. But they are plenty, even in Geneva, and he is rich and old." "No, nor with a woman." "Then with what?" "With this!" Basterga replied.
"No." "Why?" "The substance was exhausted." Blondel gasped. "Why did he not make more?" he cried. His voice was querulous, almost savage. "The experiment," Basterga answered, "of which it was the product was costly." Blondel's face turned purple. "Costly?" he cried. "Costly? When the lives of men hung in the balance."
Viewed through the medium of the man's love, which can so easily idealise where it rests, the love of the daughter for the mother, that must have touched and softened the hardest or so, but for the case of Basterga, one would have judged seemed so holy, so beautiful, so pure a thing that the young man felt that, having known it, he must be the better for it all his life.
"Well, I would not say," Basterga answered coldly, and as it seemed unwillingly, "that I have not derived something from the researches with which I have amused my leisure. But nothing of value to the general." "Yet something of value to yourself," Blondel said, his head on one side. Basterga frowned, then shrugged his shoulders. "Well, yes," he said at length, "as it happens, I have.
While there is life there is hope, there is more than hope. There is certainty." "Is there?" Blondel cried; he extended a lean hand, shaking with vindictive passion. "Is there? Go and look in your casket, fool! Go and look in your steel box!" he hissed. "Go! And see if it be not too late!" For a moment Basterga peered at him, his brow contracted, his eyes screwed up. The blow was unexpected.
And I fancied A price, eh? I suppose" in a lower tone, and with a gleam of cunning in his eyes "he does not really want the impossible? I am not a very rich man, Messer Basterga you know that; and I am sure you would tell him. You would tell him that men do not count wealth here as they do in Genoa or Venice, or even in Florence.
It was strange how much he took the matter to heart. "He could not," Basterga answered. "He repeated the process again and again, but the peculiar product, which at the first trial had resulted from the precipitation, was not obtained." "There was something lacking!" "There was something lacking," Basterga answered.
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