One day Berthelier, Blanchet, and several other citizens meeting at Mugnier’s to discourse round the table about the common interest, unfortunately brought with them a vile and corrupt fellow, a creature of the bishop’s, named Carmentrant. They sat down, the wine circulated, and their heads soon became heated: ‘The bishop,’ said one of them, ‘has sold Geneva to the duke!’--‘If he breaks his oath,’ said another, ‘his treason does not free us from ours. When princes trample the law under foot, the citizens ought to uphold it at any cost.’--‘We must let the bishop know,’ added Berthelier, ‘the resolution we have adopted to defend our independence.’--‘That is not easy,’ observed one; ‘how can we approach my lord and dare tell him all the truth?’--‘Let us mask ourselves,’ returned he; ‘we may say hard things under our masks.... Let us make a _momon_ at the palace.’ The _momon_ was a bet made by maskers when playing at dice. Pécolat did not seem convinced. ‘Leave that to me,’ said Berthelier, ‘I shall find a way of speaking to the prelate.’ Carmentrant listened in silence; he engraved in his memory every word of the great patriot, ready to add to them his private interpretations. He asserted afterwards that Berthelier proposed attacking the prelate’s life; but the contrary was proved, and even the farce of the _momon_ was never carried out. That mattered not; the smallest joke at that time was metamorphosed into the crime of high treason.[100] Berthelier was not the only person the bishop caused to be watched; Bonivard, ever sparkling with wit, gave opportunities to informers. He had at that time a difference with the bishop about the right of fishing in the Rhone. One day when walking with Berthelier and other friends, he complained of the prelate’s avarice; and then indulging in a joke, he said laughingly: ‘If ever I meet him near my fishery, one or other of us will catch an ugly fish.’ This was made a principal charge against him: he wished to _drown_ the bishop. They were mistaken: Bonivard was not a violent character; but he was ambitious, and, without wishing the bishop any harm, he secretly aspired to the bishopric. ‘I will go to Rome,’ said he to one of his intimate friends, ‘and will not have my beard shaved until I am bishop of Geneva.’ The court of Turin had not forgotten the famous decision of the cardinals. A few light words were not enough to prove to the sacred college that the people of Geneva were in revolt; an _émeute_ (as the Savoyards called it) furnished this party with the arms they sought.