something like a tear, a leaden drop, in the
corner of the Fourth Syndic's eye.

"Still if he had access to them once," Petitot suggested briskly, "what
has been done once may be done twice. He may gain access to them again.
Why not?"

"He may, but he may not. Still, I should have thought of that and--and
made allowance," Blondel answered with a fair show of candour. "But too
often an occasion let slip does not return, as you well know. The least
disorder in the box he searched may put Basterga on the alert, and wreck
my plans."

They did not answer. They felt one and all, Petitot and Baudichon no
less than Fabri, that they had done this man an injustice. His passion,
his chagrin, his singleness of aim, the depth of his disappointment,
disarmed even those who were in the daily habit of differing from him.
Was this--this the man whom they had secretly accused of lukewarmness?
And to whom they had hesitated to entrust the safety of the city? They
had done him wrong. They had not credited him with a tithe of the
feeling, the single-mindedness, the patriotism which it was plain he
possessed.

They stood silent, while Blondel, aware of the precipice, to the verge
of which his improvident passion had drawn him, watched them out of the
corner of his eye, uncertain how far their comprehension of the scene
had gone. He trembled to think how nearly he had betrayed his secret;
and took the more shame to himself, inasmuch as in cooler blood he saw
the lad's error to be far from irremediable. As Petitot said, that which
could be done so easily and quickly could be done a second time. If only
he had not struck the lad! If only he had commanded himself, and spoken
him fairly and sent him back! Almost by this time the _remedium_ might
be here. Ay, here, in the palm of his hand! The reflection stabbed
Blondel so poignantly, the sense of his folly went so deep, he groaned
aloud.

That groan fairly won over Baudichon, who was by nature of a kind heart.
"Tut, tut," he said; "you must not take it to heart, Messer Blondel. Try
again."

"Unless, indeed," Petitot murmured, but with respect, "Messer Blondel
knows the mistake to be fraught with consequences more grave than we
suppose."

The Fourth Syndic smiled awry: that was precisely what he did know. But
"No," he said, "the thing can be cured. I am sorry I lost my temper. Not
a moment must be wasted, however. I will see this young man: if he
raises any difficulty, I have still anot