He sheathed his blade, and thrust the long scabbard behind him.

"He threw a glass of wine in my face, Syndic--that is the truth.

Is an old soldier who has shed blood for Geneva to swallow that, and give God thanks ?" The Syndic turned to the student, and licked his lips, his features more pinched than usual.

"Are these your manners ?" he said.

"If so, they are not the manners of Geneva! Your name, young man, and your dwelling place ?" "My name is Claude Mercier, last from Chatillon in Burgundy," the young man answered firmly.