she shall, the stronger for
this night's work--be forgotten! The name of Mere Royaume will at the
next meeting of the Greater Council be inscribed among the names of
those whom the Free City thanks for their services this night!"

A murmur of stern approval that began with those in the house rolled
through the doorway and was echoed by the waiting throng that filled the
street.

She was weeping. All it meant, all it might mean, what warranty of
powerful friends, what fame beyond the reach of dark stories, or a
woman's spite, she could not yet understand, she could not yet
appreciate. But something, the city's safety, the city's gratitude, the
countenance of these men who came to her door blood-stained, dark with
smoke, reeling with fatigue--came that they might thank her mother and
do her honour--something of this she did grasp as she wept before them.

She had but one thing to ask, to desire; and in a moment it was given
her.

"Nor is that all!" The voice that broke in was harsher and blunter than
Baudichon's. "If it be true, as I am told, that a young man of the name
of Mercier lives here? He does, does he? Ay, he lives, my girl. He is
safe, have no fear. For the matter of that he has nine lives,
and"--Captain Blandano continued with an oath--"he has had need of all
this night, God forgive me for the word! But, as I said, that is not
all. For if there is any one man who has saved Geneva, it is he, the man
who let down the portcullis. And if the city does not dower you, my
girl----"

"The city shall dower her!" The speaker's voice came from somewhere in
the neighbourhood of the doorway, and was something tremulous and
uncertain. But what it lacked in strength it made up in haste and
eagerness. "The city shall dower her! If not, I will!"

"Good, Messer Blondel, and spoken like you!" Blandano answered heartily.
And though one or two of the foremost, on hearing Blondel's voice,
looked askance at one another, and here and there a whisper passed of
"The Syndic of the guard? How came----" the majority drowned such
murmurings under a chorus of applause.

"We are of one mind, I think!" Baudichon said. And with that he turned
to the door. "Now, good friends," he continued, "it wants but little of
daylight, and some of us were best in our beds. Let us go. That we lie
down in peace and honour"--he went on, solemnly raising his hand over
the happy weeping girl beside him, as if he blessed her--"that our wives
and childre