ded. "That is true," he said.

"And the walls are well guarded at night."

Fabri nodded again. "Yes," he said, "it is true. I think, Messer
Petitot," he went on, turning to him, "we are a little over-fearful."

The two others were silent, and Blondel eyed them harshly, aware that he
had mastered them, yet hating them. Petitot's appeal to his
feelings--which had touched and moved Blondel even while he resented it
as something cruel and unfair--had lacked but a little of success. But
missing, failing by ever so little, it left the three ill-equipped to
continue the struggle on lower grounds. They sat silent, Fabri almost
convinced, the others dejected: and Blondel sat silent also, hardened by
his victory, and hating them for the manner of it. Was not his life as
dear to him as their wives and children were to them? And was it not at
stake? Yet he did not whine and pule to them. God! they whine, they
complain, who had long years to live and rose of mornings without
counting the days, and, at the worst and were Geneva taken, had but the
common risks to run and many a chance of escape! While he--yet he did
not pule to them! He did not stab them unfairly, cruelly, striving to
reach their tender spots, to take advantage of their kindness of heart.
He had no thought, no notion of betraying them; but, had he such, it
would serve them right! It would repay them selfishness for
selfishness, greed for greed! In his place they would not hesitate. He
could see at what a price they set their petty lives, and how little
they would scruple to buy them in the dearest market. Well was it for
Geneva that it was he and not they whom God saw fit to try. And he
glowered at them. Wives and daughters! What were wives and daughters
beside life, warm life, life stretching forward pleasantly,
indefinitely, morning after morning, day after day--life and a
continuance of good things?

Immersed as he was in this train of thought, it was none the less he who
first caught the sound of a foot on the threshold, and a summons at the
door. He rose to his feet. Already in his mind's eye he saw Basterga
cast to the lions: and why not? The sooner the better if the _remedium_
were really at the door. "There may be news even now," he said, striving
to master his emotion, and to speak with the superiority of a few
minutes before. "One moment, by your leave! I will see and let you know
if it be so, Messer Fabri."

"Do by all means," Fabri answered earnestly.