"None," replied Edward, boldly.
"Does Clement Tournon wish to leave the city?" demanded the mayor again.
"I do not know," replied the young Englishman. "He is old, infirm, and, I am told, sick. I have had no communication with him. But he knows that he can be of no further service in Rochelle, or I believe he would remain in it till the last man died and the last tower fell."
"He is sick," said the mayor, "of a very common disease here. But yet we are not so badly off that we cannot maintain the city till the English fleet arrives."
"The dyke!" said Edward, emphatically.
"Oh," replied Guiton, with a scoffing and unnatural-sounding laugh, "the first storm, such as I have seen many, will sweep that dyke away."
"But, if it stands fourteen days," said Edward, "will you not have a storm within these walls which will sweep away the people of Rochelle?"
Guiton covered his eyes with his hands and remained silent.
"But I have nothing to do with these things, sir," said Edward. "It was only to give aid, to give safety, to a friend, an old noble-minded man who befriended me when I had need of friendship, that I came into Rochelle at all. May I ask what is this sickness that you speak of so lightly?"
"Famine, sir! famine!" said Guiton, sharply. "An ounce of meat,—God knows of what kind,—two ounces of dried peas, and a draught of cold water, is but a meagre diet for old men and babes. We strong men can bear it; but there be some who are foolish enough to die rather than endure it a little longer."