h out of form, and resolve into their primitive
atoms, outlive him! They lie on the table when he is gone, are unchanged
by his removal, serve another master as they have served him, preach to
another generation the same lesson. The face is dust, but the canvas
smiles from the wall. The hand is withered, but the pencil is still in
the tray and is used by another. There are times when the irony of this
thought bites deep into the mind, and goads the mortal to revolt. Had
Blondel, as he climbed the hill, possessed the power of Orimanes to
blast at will, few of those whom he met, few on whom he turned the
gloomy fire of his eyes, would have reached their houses that day or
seen another sun.

He was within a hundred paces of his home, when a big man, passing along
the Bourg du Four, but on the other side of the way, saw him and came
across the road to intercept him. It was Baudichon, his double chin more
pendulent, his massive face more dully wistful than ordinary; for the
times had got upon the Councillor's nerves, and day by day he grew more
anxious, slept worse of nights, and listened much before he went to bed.

"Messer Blondel," he called out, in a voice more peremptory than was
often addressed to the Fourth Syndic's ear. "Messer Syndic! One moment,
if you please!"

Blondel stopped and turned to him. Outwardly the Syndic was cool,
inwardly he was at a white heat that at any moment might impel him to
the wildest action. "Well?" he said. "What is it, M. Baudichon?"

"I want to know----"

"Of course!" The sneer was savage and undisguised. "What, this time, if
I may be so bold?"

Baudichon breathed quickly, partly with the haste he had made across the
road, partly in irritation at the gibe. "This only," he said. "How far
you purpose to try our patience? A week ago you were for delaying the
arrest you know of--for a day. It was a matter of hours then."

"It was."

"But days have passed, and are passing! and we have no explanation;
nothing is done. And every night we run a fresh risk, and every
morning--so far--we thank God that our throats are still whole; and
every day we strive to see you, and you are out, or engaged, or about to
do it, or awaiting news! But this cannot go on for ever! Nor," puffing
out his cheeks, "shall we always bear it!"

"Messer Baudichon!" Blondel retorted, the passion he had so far
restrained gleaming in his eyes, and imparting a tremor to his voice,
"are you Fourth Syndic or am I?"

"