By his side stood Messer Petitot--she knew him, too, he had been Syndic the year before--and a man in hacked and blood-stained armour with his arm in a sling and his face black with powder.

These three, and behind them a dozen others--men whom she had seen on high days robed in velvet, but who now wore, one and all, the ugly marks of that night's work--looked on her with a strange benevolence.

And Baudichon took her hand.
"We do not come to harm you," he said.

"On the contrary we come to thank you and yours.

In the name of the city of Geneva, and of all those here with me----" "Ay! Ay!" shouted Jehan Brosse, the tailor.