During this time the mamelukes were sitting night and day in ‘the little stove,’ consulting on the best means of repressing for ever the spirit of national independence in Geneva. They believed the city could never belong to Savoy whilst those who had voted for the alliance with Friburg were alive. A king of Rome, while walking in his garden, struck off with his stick the heads of the tallest poppies. The conspirators, resolving to profit by the lessons of history, began to draw up a proscription list, and placed on it the four syndics, the twenty-one councillors, and other notable citizens so as to make up forty. Wishing to end the affair promptly, certain mamelukes went to the executioner and asked him ‘how much he would take for forty heads?’ It seems that he required more than the heads were worth, according to the value which had been set upon them, for contemporary documents tell us that they ‘haggled’ about it. Three chronicles of the time, all worthy of trust, describe this disgusting visit to the headsman.[235] The rumour got abroad, and all Geneva trembled. Some who knew they were on the list, hid themselves. ‘A very foolish thing,’ said others. ‘Without God, the most secret hiding-places are but as the fancies of children, who put their hands before their eyes and think nobody can see them.’ The boldest huguenots were filled with indignation: instead of concealing themselves, they girded on their swords, raised their heads, and walked proudly in the streets. ‘But they were made to _feel the cord_ (sentir la corde).’ We do not know whether this means that they were beaten or only threatened. ‘After this,’ continues Savyon, ‘there was no other resource but to commend ourselves to God.’[236] Berthelier and his friends hurried to Marti. They represented to him that at the moment when the duke had made such fine promises, he was thinking only of breaking them; they added that assuredly this perjured prince would have to answer for his crime. The Friburger, at once ashamed and indignant, went to the duke and said: ‘What do you mean, my lord? Do you wish me to be accounted a traitor? I have your word. You bade me give the people of Geneva assurance of your good will; they consequently opened their gates in good faith; otherwise you would not have entered without hard knocks. But now you break your promise.... My lord, you will certainly suffer by it.’ The duke, embarrassed and annoyed and unable to justify himself, got into a passion, and offered the Friburg ambassador the grossest insult: ‘Go,’ said he, addressing Marti with an epithet so filthy that history cannot transcribe his words, ‘get out of my presence.’[237]