Here the Provost-Marshal had his impregnable quarters. Looking down, one might see the huge blank bulge of the tower enter the pavement below unpierced but by an occasional loop or eyelet hole. Its only entrance, indeed, was from the rampart-walk; its direct approach by way of the flying stair-way, up which Bembo had seen the monk disappear. His heart burned in his breast as he thought of him. There was a fury in his blood, a sickness in his throat.
A sentry, lounging by the door, offered, as if by preconcert with Tassino, no bar to his entrance. But, when Cicada would have followed, he stayed him.
'Back, Fool!' he said shortly, opposing his halberd.
Cicada struggled a moment, and desisted.
'A murrain on thy tongue,' snapped he, 'that calls me one!'
The sentry laughed, and, having gained his point, produced a flask leisurely from his belt.
'What! art thou not a fool?' said he, unstoppering it, and preparing to drink.
'Understand, I have forsworn all liquor,' said Cicada, with a wry twinkle.
'So art thou certainly a fool,' said the sentry, eye and body guarding the doorway, as he raised the horn.
'Hist!' whispered Cicada, staying him: 'this remoteness—that damning gurgle—come! a ducat for a mouthful! Be quick, before he returns!'