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Updated: June 23, 2025
Messer Blondel thought the carelessness overdone, and, his interest aroused, he followed the manuscript, he scarcely knew why, with his eyes. "I think I have heard the name of Averroes?" he said. "Was he not a physician?" "He was many things," Basterga answered negligently. "As a physician he was, I believe, rather visionary than practical.
A moment, and he was lost to sight between the wooden mills and sheds which flanked the bridge on either side, and rendered it at once as narrow and as picturesque as were most of the bridges of the day. Basterga, left solitary, waited a while before he left his shelter.
If he did not act, if he were not going to act, if he were not going to take some surer and safer step, he had been foolish and trebly foolish to let slip the opportunity that had been his. But he would act. For a fortnight he had abstained from visiting Basterga, and had even absented himself from the neighbourhood of the house lest the scholar's suspicions should be wakened.
Her subjection to Basterga, her submission to contumely and to insult there must be a reason for these, a natural and innocent reason could he hit on it. The strange occurrences of the night, the blasphemous words, the mocking laughter, at the worst they might not import a mastery over her.
"No, I did not." "No? Then how come you here?" Basterga asked, his eyes still watchful. "In this house, I mean? 'Tis not easy to find." "My father lodged here," Claude vouchsafed. And he shrugged his shoulders, thinking that with that the matter was clear. But Basterga continued to eye him with something that was not far removed from suspicion. "Oh," he said. "That is it, is it?
He still feared Basterga; nay, he lived in such terror, lest the part he had played should come to the scholar's ears, that he prayed for his arrest night and morning, and whenever during the day an especial fit of dread seized him.
"Are you doing anything at all?" he asked savagely, dropping the thin veil of irony that shrouded his temper. "That is the question. Are you moving?" "That will appear." "When? When, man? That is what his Highness wants to know. At present there is no appearance of anything." "No," Basterga replied with fine irony. "There is not. I know it.
"He is mad." "He does not," Basterga repeated, unmoved. "The Grand Duke is as sane as I am." "Then what does he expect?" But the big man laughed. "No, no, Messer Blondel," he said. "You push me too far. You mean nothing, and meaning nothing, all's said and done.
There was the chance that the attempt might fail; the chance that Basterga might escape; the chance that he might have the remedium about him and destroy it; the chance that he might have hidden it. There were so many chances, in a word, that the Syndic's heart stood still as he enumerated them, and pictured the crash of his last hope of life. He could not face the risk. He could not.
If it be the philtre only that she has taken as you say?" "If it be the philtre? The mother, you mean?" "Yes." "Mad! Mad!" Basterga repeated with decision, "and beside herself. As you had been," he continued grimly, "had you by any chance taken the aqua Medeæ." "That you kept in the steel box?" "Ay." "You are sure it was not the remedium?" Blondel leaned forward.
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