The Long Night | Page 6

young man, and your dwelling
place?"
"My name is Claude Mercier, last from Chatillon in Burgundy," the
young man answered firmly. "For the rest, I did no otherwise than you,
sir, must have done in my case!"
The magistrate snorted. "I!"
"Being treated as I was!" the young man protested. "He would have me
drink whether I would or no! And in terms no man of honour could
bear."

"Honour?" the Syndic retorted, and on the word exploded in great
wrath. "Honour, say you? Then I know who is in fault. When men of
your race talk of honour 'tis easy to saddle the horse. I will teach you
that we know naught of honour in Geneva, but only of service! And
naught of punctilios but much of modest behaviour! It is such hot blood
as yours that is at the root of brawlings and disorders and such-like, to
the scandal of the community: and to cool it I will commit you to the
town jail until to-morrow! Convey him thither," he continued, turning
sharply to his followers, "and see him safely bestowed in the stocks.
To-morrow I will hear if he be penitent, and perhaps, if he be in a
cooler temper----"
But the young man, aghast at this sudden disgrace, could be silent no
longer. "But, sir," he broke in passionately, "I had no choice. It was no
quarrel of my beginning. I did but refuse to drink, and when he----"
"Silence, sirrah!" the Syndic cried, and cut him short. "You will do well
to be quiet!" And he was turning to bid his people bear their prisoner
out without more ado when one of the merchants ventured to put in a
word.
"May I say," he interposed timidly, "that until this happened, Messer
Blondel, the young man's conduct was all that could be desired?"
"Are you of his company?"
"No, sir."
"Then best keep out of it!" the magistrate retorted sharply.
"And you," to his followers, "did you hear me? Away with him!"
But as the men advanced to execute the order, the young man stepped
forward. "One moment!" he said. "A moment only, sir. I caught the
name of Blondel. Am I speaking to Messer Philibert Blondel?"
The Syndic nodded ungraciously. "Yes," he said, "I am he. What of it?"

"Only this, that I have a letter for him," the student answered, groping
with trembling fingers in his pouch. "From my uncle, the Sieur de
Beauvais of Nocle, by Dijon."
"The Sieur de Beauvais?"
"Yes."
"He is your uncle?"
"Yes."
"So! Well, I remember now," Blondel continued, nodding. "His name
was Mercier. Certainly, it was. Well, give me the letter." His tone was
still harsh, but it was not the same; and when he had broken the seal
and read the letter--with a look half contemptuous, half uneasy--his
brow cleared a little. "It were well young people knew better what
became them," he cried, peevishly shrugging his shoulders. "It would
save us all a great deal. However, for this time as you are a stranger and
well credited, I find, you may go. But let it be a lesson to you, do you
hear? Let it be a lesson to you, young man. Geneva," pompously, "is no
place for brawling, and if you come hither for that, you will quickly
find yourself behind bars. See that you go to a fit lodging to-morrow,
and do you, Mr. Landlord, have a care that he leaves you."
The young man's heart was full, but he had the wisdom to keep his
temper and to say no more. The Syndic on his part was glad, on second
thoughts, to be free of the matter. He was turning to go when it seemed
to strike him that he owed something more to the bearer of the letter.
He turned back. "Yes," he said, "I had forgotten. This week I am busy.
But next week, on some convenient day, come to me, young sir, and I
may be able to give you a word of advice. In the forenoon will be best.
Until then--see to your behaviour!"
The young man bowed and waited, standing where he was, until the
bustle attending the Syndic's departure had quite died away. Then he
turned. "Now, Messer Grio," he said briskly, "for my part I am ready."

But Messer Grio had slipped away some minutes before.
CHAPTER II.
THE HOUSE ON THE RAMPARTS.
The affair at the inn which had threatened to turn out so unpleasantly
for our hero, should have gone some way towards destroying the
illusions with which he had entered Geneva. But faith is strong in the
young, and hope stronger. The traditions of his boyhood and his
fireside, and the stories, animate with affection for the cradle of the
faith, to which he had