CHAPTER V.
THE ELIXIR VITAE.
As the Syndic crossed the threshold of the scholar's room, he uncovered with an air of condescension that, do what he would, was not free from uneasiness.

He had persuaded himself--he had been all the morning persuading himself--that any man might pay a visit to a learned scholar--why not?
Moreover, that a magistrate in paying such a visit was but in the performance of his duty, and might plume himself accordingly on the act.
Yet two things like worms in the bud would gnaw at his peace.

The first was conscience: if the Syndic did not know he had reason to suspect that Basterga bore the Grand Duke's commission, and was in Geneva to further his master's ends.

The second source of his uneasiness he did not acknowledge even to himself, and yet it was the more powerful: it was a suspicion--a strong suspicion, though he had met Basterga but twice--that in parleying with the scholar he was dealing with a man for whom he was no match, puff himself out as he might; and who secretly despised him.
Perhaps the fact that the latter feeling ceased to vex him before he had been a minute in the room, was the best testimony to Basterga's tact we could desire.

Not that the scholar was either effusive or abject.