The streets, to his excited imagination, were full of spies; he fancied his every movement watched, his footsteps counted.

If he lingered they might suppose him lukewarm, if he paused they might think him ill-affected.

His speed must show his zeal.

His poor little heart beat in his breast as if it would spring from it, but he did not stay nor look aside until the door of the house in the Corraterie closed behind him.
Then within the house there fell upon him--alas! what a thing it is to be a coward--a new fear.

The fear was not the fear of Basterga, the bully and cynic, whom he had known and fawned on and flattered; but of Basterga the dark and dangerous conspirator, of whom he now heard, ready to repay with the dagger the least attempt to penetrate his secrets! On his entrance he had flung himself face downward on his pallet in the little closet in which he slept; but at that thought he sprang up, suffocated by it; already he fancied himself in the hands of the desperadoes whom he had betrayed, already he pictured slow and lingering deaths.