ere brewing it was to be expected. "What of him?" he repeated,
throwing himself back in his chair, and tapping the table with his
fingers.

"This," Fabri answered, waving the letter which he had in his hands.

"But I do not know what that is," Blondel replied coolly. "I am
afraid"--he looked at his neighbour on either side--"was I asleep?"

"I fear so," said one, while the other smiled. They were his very good
friends and allies.

"Well, it is not like me. I can say that I am not often," with a keen
look at Baudichon, "caught napping! And now, M. Fabri," he continued
with his usual practical air, "I have delayed the business long enough.
What is it? And what is that?" He pointed to the letter in the First
Syndic's hands.

"Well, it is really your affair in the main," Fabri answered, "since as
Fourth Syndic you are responsible for the guard and the city's safety;
and ours afterwards. It is a warning," he continued, his eyes reverting
to the page before him, "from our secret agent in Turin, whose name I
need not mention"--Blondel nodded--"informing us of a fresh attempt to
be made on the city before Christmas; by means of rafts formed of
hurdles and capable of transporting whole companies of soldiers. These
he has seen tried in the River Po, and they performed the work. Having
reached the walls by their means the assailants are to mount by ladders
which are being made to fit into one another. They are covered with
black cloth, and can be laid against the wall without noise. It
sounds--circumstantial?" Fabri commented, breaking off and looking at
Blondel.

The Syndic nodded thoughtfully. "Yes," he said, "I think so. I think
also," he continued, "that with the aid of my friend, Captain Blandano,
I shall be able to give a good account of the rafts and the ladders."

Baudichon the councillor interposed. "But that is not all," he muttered,
rolling ponderously in his chair as he spoke. He was a stout man with a
double chin and a weighty manner; honest, but slow, and the spokesman of
the more wealthy burghers. His neighbour Petitot, a man of singular
appearance, lean, with a long thin drooping nose, commonly supported
him. Petitot, who bore the nickname of "the Inquisitor," represented the
Venerable Company of Pastors, and was viewed with especial distaste by
the turbulent spirits whom the war had left in the city, as well as by
the lower ranks, who upheld Blondel. In sense and vigour the Fourth
Syndic was more than a ma