"And have you the heart, sir," asked Edward, with some indignation in his tone, "to refuse the means of escape offered to an old man, and that man Clement Tournon, and to speak lightly of his sufferings,—his martyrdom, I might say?"
"No! no! no!" cried the mayor, vehemently, stretching forth his hands. "Young man, you mistake me! Could my blood nourish him, he should have the last drop. What! old Clement Tournon, my dear, dear friend,—would I deprive him of one hour's life? But it is that I cannot comprehend how you are here,—why you are here. This story that you tell is mere nonsense."
"It is true, nevertheless," said Edward. "But if my word will not satisfy you,—as, indeed, I see no reason why it should,—come with me to Clement Tournon, and he perhaps can tell you how much I can dare to serve a friend."
"I will!" cried Guiton, starting up; but then he sat down again immediately, saying, "No, no! I cannot bear those faces in the streets. Can you find your way yourself?—for I can spare no men."
"Not if I am to be blindfolded," said Edward: "otherwise I could find it, I am sure."
"Pshaw!" said the mayor, "what use of blindfolding you? You will see dying and dead, plague-eaten, famine-stricken. But you can go and tell the Cardinal de Richelieu how the citizens of Rochelle can die rather than see their privileges torn from them, their religion trodden under foot. You can tell him, too, that I will defend those walls as long as there is one soldier left to man them and one hand capable of firing a gun, unless we have security for our faith. You are sure he said nothing more?"
"No, nothing more," answered Edward: "merely that he would give you the most favorable terms, but that he would not have rebellion in the land."
"Rebellion!" muttered Guiton, scornfully. "Who first drew the sword? But let us think of Clement Tournon. I am willing to believe you, young gentleman. If I remember rightly, I have heard the old man speak well of you. And, after all, what harm can you do? You can but repeat a story of our sufferings which I am aware they already know too well in yonder camp. What they do not know is the courage with which we can bear them. Go to the syndic. He has not come forth for several days. Go to him, and see if the prospect of relief can give fresh strength to those enfeebled limbs, fresh energy to that crushed and scarcely-beating heart. Tell him that I not only permit but beseech him to go with you,—that even one mouth less in Rochelle is a relief. He has done his duty manfully to the last. He can do it no longer. Beseech him to go. And yet," he continued, in a sad tone, "I much doubt his strength. Could he have crawled even to the council-chamber, we should have seen his face. Could he have lifted his voice, we should have heard his inspiring words. He was alive last night, I know. But to-day——Alas, alas, my poor friend!" And some tears ran down the worn cheek of the gallant defender of Rochelle.
"I have some brandy under my coat," whispered Edward. "I brought it on purpose for him. It may give him strength at least to reach the outposts."
Guiton seized his hand and wrung it hard. "Noble young man! well bethought!" he said. "But he must have a little food. Stay; he shall have my dinner. I do not want it. By Heaven! the thought that we have saved old Clement Tournon will be better than the best of meals to me!"