CHAPTER XVI.
A GLOVE AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
Meanwhile, Claude, robbed of his prey, had gone into the town in great disgust.

As he passed from the bridge, and paused before he entered the huddle of narrow streets that climbed the hill, he had on his left the glittering heights of snow, rising ridge above ridge to the blue; and most distant among them Mont Blanc itself, etherealised by the frosty sunshine and clear air of a December morning.

But Mont Blanc might have been a marsh, the Rhone, pouring its icy volume from the lake, might have been a brook, for him.

Aware, at length, of the peril in which Anne stood, and not doubting that these colloquies of Messers Blondel and Louis, these man[oe]uvrings to be rid of his presence, were part of a conspiracy against her, he burned with the desire to thwart it.

They had made a puppet of him; they had sent him to and fro at their will and pleasure; and they had done this, no doubt, in order that in his absence they might work--Heaven knew what vile and miserable work! But he would know, too! He was going to know! He would not be so tricked thrice.
His indignation went beyond the Syndic.