He found instead the Syndic, who had stolen in after him, and with a dark anxious face was standing like a shadow of guilt between him and the door.
The young man resented the alarm which the other had caused him.

"If you are going, go," he muttered.

"And if you will do it yourself, Messer Syndic, so much the better." He pointed to the door of the staircase.
The Syndic recoiled, his beard wagging senilely.

"No, no," he babbled.
"No, I will go back." It was no longer the formal magistrate, but a frightened man who stood at Claude's elbow.

And this was so clear that superstition, which is of all things the most infectious, began to shake the young man's resolution.