n
thought, gazing at the rushlight she carried on the tray--yet seeing
nothing. A sentence, one sentence of all those which Blondel had poured
forth--not Blondel the austere Syndic, who had set the lads aside as if
they had been schoolboys, but Blondel the man, trembling, holding out
suppliant hands--rang again and again in her ears.

"It is health of body, though you be dying as I am, and health of mind,
though you be possessed of devils!" Health of body! Health of mind!
Health of body! Health of mind! The words wrote themselves before her
eyes in letters of fire. Health of Body! Health of Mind!

And only one dose in all the world. Only one dose in all the world! She
recalled that too.

CHAPTER XV.

ON THE BRIDGE.

To say that the Syndic, as soon as he had withdrawn, repented of his
weakness and wished with all his heart that he had not opened until the
_remedium_ was in his hand, is only to say that he was human. He did
more than this, indeed. When he had advanced some paces in the direction
of the Porte Tertasse he returned, and for a full minute he stood before
the Royaumes' door irresolute; half-minded to knock and, casting the
fear of publicity to the winds, to say that he must have at once that
for which he had come. He would get it, if he did, he was certain of
that. And for the rest, what the young men said or thought, or what
others who heard their story might say or think, mattered not a straw
now that he came to consider it; since he could have Basterga seized on
the morrow, and all would pass for a part of his affair.

Yet he did not knock. A downward step on the slope of indecision is hard
to retrace. He reflected that he would get the _remedium_ in the
morning. He would certainly get it. The girl was won over, Basterga was
away. Practically, he had no one to fear. And to make a stir when the
matter could be arranged without a stir was not the part of a wise man
in the position of a magistrate. Slowly he turned and walked away.

But, as if his good angel touched him on the shoulder, under the Porte
Tertasse he had qualms; and again he stood. And when, after a shorter
interval and with less indecision, he resumed his course, it was by no
means with the air of a victor. He would receive what he needed in the
morning: he dared not admit a doubt of that. And yet--was it a vague
presentiment that weighed on him as he walked, or only the wintry night
wind that caused the blood to run more slowly