The next moment Basterga's huge hand struck aside the useless weapon, and flung Blondel gasping against the wall.
"Fool!" the scholar cried, towering above the baffled, shrinking man whose attempt had placed him at his mercy.

"Think you that Caesar Basterga was born to perish by your hand?
That the gods made me what I am, I who carry to-night the fortunes of a nation and the fate of a king, that I might fall by so pitiful a creature as you! Ay, 'tis the alarm-bell, you are right.

And by-and-by your friends will be here.

It is a wonder," he continued, with a cruel look, "that they are not here already; but perhaps they have enough to fill their hands! And come or stay--if they be like you, poor fool, weak in body as in wit--I care not! I, Caesar Basterga, this night lord of Geneva, and in the time to come, and thanks to you----" "Curse you!" Blondel gasped.
"That which I dare be sworn you have dreamt of being!"-- the scholar continued with a subtle smile.

"The Grand Duke's _alter ego_, Mayor of the Palace, Adviser to his Highness! Yes, I hit you there?
I touch you there! Oh, vanity of little men, I thought so! "He broke off and listened, as sharp on one another two gun-shots rang out at no great distance from the house.