hrewdly, "I can see that you have not
wanted anything."

"No."

"You lodge there?" Blondel continued, pointing to the house. "But I know
you do. And keep late hours, I fear. You are not alone in the house, I
think?"

"No," Claude replied; and on a sudden, as his mind went back to the
house and those in it, there leapt into it the temptation to tell all to
this man, a magistrate, and appeal to him in the girl's behalf. He
could not speak to a more proper person, if he sought the city through;
and here was the opportunity, brought unsought, to his door. But then he
had not the girl's leave to speak; could he speak without her leave? He
shifted his feet, and to gain time, "No," he said slowly, "there are two
or three who lodge in the house."

"Is not the person with whom you quarrelled at the inn one of them?" the
Syndic asked. "Eh? Is not he one?"

"Yes," Claude answered; and the recollection of the scene and of the
support which the Syndic had given to Grio checked the impulse to speak.
Perhaps after all the girl knew best.

"And a person of the name of Basterga, I think?"

Claude nodded. He dared not trust himself to speak now. Could it be that
a whisper of what was passing in the house had reached the magistrates?

The Syndic coughed. He glanced from the distant door, now a mere blur in
the obscurity, to his companion's face and back again to the door--of
which he seemed reluctant to lose sight. For a moment he seemed at a
loss how to proceed. When he did speak, after a long pause, it was in a
dry curt tone. "It is about him I wish to hear something," he said. "I
look to you as a good citizen to afford such information as the State
requires. The matter is more important than you think. I ask you what
you know of that man."

"Messer Basterga!"

"Yes."

Claude stared. "I know no good," he answered, more and more surprised.
"I do not like him, Messer Syndic."

"But he is a learned man, I believe. He passes for such, does he not?"

"Yes."

"Yet you do not like him. Why?"

Claude's face burned. "He puts his learning to no good use," he blurted
out. "He uses it to--to torture women. If I could tell you all--all,
Messer Blondel," the young man continued, in growing excitement, "you
would understand me better! He gains power over people, a strange power,
and abuses it."

"Power? What do you mean? What kind of power?"

"God knows."

The Syndic stared a moment, his face expressive of contempt. This was