"I remember that a licence was granted to him in the name of Caesar Basterga, graduate of Padua; and doubtless--for licences to reside are not granted without such--he had letters, but I do not recall from whom.

They would be returned to him with the licence." "And that is all," Petitot said, his long nose drooping, his inquisitive eyes looking over his glasses, "that you know about him, Messer Blondel ?" Did they know anything, and, if so, what did they know?
Blondel hesitated.

This persistence, this continual harping on one point, began to alarm him.

But he carried it bravely.

"Do you mean as to his convictions ?" he asked with a sneer.
"No, I mean at all!" "I want to know," Baudichon added--the parrot phrase began to carry to Blondel's ears the note of fate--"what you know about him." This time a pause betrayed Blondel's hesitation.