ic repeated, with a deep sigh, his hands
still moving nervously about his dress. Then, after a moment's pause,
"Will you ring the bell?" he said.

The Captain, marvelling much, rang the hand-bell which lay on a
neighbouring table. He marvelled still more when he heard Messer
Blondel order the servant to place six bottles of his best wine in a
basket and take them to the Captain's lodging.

Blandano stared. He knew the wine to be choice and valuable; and he eyed
the tiny phial respectfully. "It is something rare, I expect?" he said.

The Syndic nodded.

"And costly too, I doubt not?" with an admiring glance.

"Costly?" Messer Blondel repeated the word, and when he had done so
turned on the other a look that led the Captain to think that he was
going to be ill again. Then, "It cost me--it will cost me"--again a
spasm contorted the Syndic's face--"I don't know what it will not have
cost me before it is paid for, Messer Blandano!"

CHAPTER XXII.

TWO NAILS IN THE WALL.

The long day during which the lovers had drained a cup at once so sweet
and so bitter, and one of the two had felt alike the throb of pain and
the thrill of kisses, came to an end at last; and without further
incident. Encouraged by the respite--for who that is mortal does not
hope against hope--they ventured on the following morning to lower the
shutters, and this to a great extent restored the house to its normal
aspect. Anne would have gone so far as to attend the morning preaching
at St. Pierre, for it was Friday; but her mother awoke low and nervous,
the girl dared not quit her side, and Claude had no field for the urgent
dissuasions which he had prepared himself to use.

The greater part of the day she remained above stairs, busied in the
petty offices, and moving to and fro--he could hear her tread--upon the
errands of love, to see her in the midst of which might well have
confuted the slanders that crept abroad. But there were times in the day
when Madame Royaume slept; and then, who can blame Anne, if she stole
down and sat hand in hand with Claude on the settle, whispering
sometimes of those things of which lovers whisper, and will whisper to
the world's end; but more often of the direr things before these two
lovers, and so of faith and hope and the love that does not die. For the
most part it was she who talked. She had so much to tell him of the long
nightmare, the nightmare of months, that had oppressed her; of her
prayers, a