CHAPTER IV.
CAESAR BASTERGA.
Had it been Mercier's eye in place of his ear which attended the two men to the upper room, he would have remarked--perhaps with surprise, since he had gained some knowledge of Grio's temper--that in proportion as they mounted the staircase, the toper's crest drooped, and his arrogance ebbed away; until at the door of Basterga's chamber, it was but a sneaking and awkward man who crossed the threshold.
Nor was the reason far to seek.

Whatever the standpoint of the two men in public, their relations to one another in private were delivered up, stamped and sealed in that moment of entrance.

While Basterga, leaving the other to close the door, strode across the room to the window and stood gazing out, his very back stern and contemptuous, Grio fidgeted and frowned, waiting with ill-concealed penitence, until the other chose to address him.

At length Basterga turned, and his gleaming eyes, his moon-face pale with anger, withered his companion.
"Again! Again!" he growled--it seemed he dare not lift his voice.

"Will you never be satisfied until we are broken on the wheel?
You dog, you! The sooner you are broken the better, were that all! Ay, and were that all, I could watch the bar fall with pleasure! But do you think I will see the fruit of years of planning, do you think that I will see the reward of this brain--this! this, you brainless idiot, who know not what a brain is"-- and he tapped his brow repeatedly with an earnestness almost grotesque--"do you think that I will see this cast away, because you swill, swine that you are! Swill and prate in your cups!" "'Fore God, I said nothing!" Grio whined.