n the
high-backed chair, his chin fallen on his breast, it was in his eyes
alone, peering from below bent brows, that he seemed to live.

"He would not waive his claim," Basterga answered gently, "save on
a--but in substance that was all."

Blondel raised himself slowly and stiffly in the chair. His lips parted.
"In substance?" he muttered hoarsely, "There was more then?"

Basterga shrugged his shoulders. "There was. Save, the Grand Duke added,
on the condition--but the condition which followed was inadmissible."

Blondel gave vent to a cackling laugh. "Inadmissible?" he muttered.
"Inadmissible." And then, "You are not a dying man, Messer Basterga, or
you would think--few things inadmissible."

"Impossible, then."

"What was it? What was it?"--with a gesture eloquent of the impatience
that was choking him.

"He asked," Basterga replied reluctantly, "a price."

"A price?"

The big man nodded.

The Syndic rose up and sat down again. "Why did you not say so? Why did
you not say so at once?" he cried fiercely. "Is it about that you have
been fencing all this time? Is that what you were seeking? And I
fancied--A price, eh? I suppose"--in a lower tone, and with a gleam of
cunning in his eyes--"he does not really want--the impossible? I am not
a very rich man, Messer Basterga--you know that; and I am sure you would
tell him. You would tell him that men do not count wealth here as they
do in Genoa or Venice, or even in Florence. I am sure you would put him
right on that," with a faint whine in his tone. "He would not strip a
man to the last rag. He would not ask--thousands for it."

"No," Basterga answered, with something of asperity and even contempt in
his tone. "He does not ask thousands for it, Messer Blondel. But he
asks, none the less, something you cannot give."

"Money?"

"No."

"Then--what is it?" Blondel leant forward in growing fury. "Why do you
fence with me? What is it, man?"

Basterga did not answer for a moment. At length, shrugging his
shoulders, and speaking between jest and earnest, "The town of Geneva,"
he said. "No more, no less."

The Syndic started violently, then was still. But the hand which in the
first instant of surprise he had raised to shield his eyes, trembled;
and behind it great drops of sweat rose on his brow, and bore witness to
the conflict in his breast.

"You are jesting," he said presently, without removing his hand.

"It is no jest," Basterga answered soberly. "You