Whether, do what he would, his feelings made themselves known--for the shoulders can speak, and eloquently, on occasion--or the reverse was the case, and his failure to rise to the bait disappointed the tormentor, the big man, Basterga, presently resumed the attack. "Tissotius pereat, Tissotianus adest!" he muttered with a sneer. "But perhaps, young sir, Latinity is not one of your subjects. The tongue of the immortal Cicero----" "I speak it a little," Claude answered quietly. "It were foolish to approach the door of learning without the key." "Oh, you are a wit, young sir! Well, with your wit and your Latinity can you construe this:-- Stultitiam expellas, furca tamen usque recurret Tissotius periit terque quaterque redit!" "I think so," Claude replied gravely. "Good, if it please you! And the meaning?" "Tissot was a fool, and you are another!" the young man returned. "Will you now solve me one, reverend sir, with all submission?" "Said and done!" the big man answered disdainfully. "Nec volucres plumae faciunt nec cuspis Achillem! Construe me that then if you will!" Basterga shrugged his shoulders. "Fine feathers do not make fine birds!" he said. "If you apply it to me," he continued with a contemptuous face, "I----" "Oh, no, to your company," Claude answered. Self-control comes hardly to the young, and he had already forgotten his _role_. "Ask him what happened last night at the 'Bible and Hand,'" he continued, pointing to Grio, "and how he stands now with his friend the Syndic!" "The Syndic?" "The Syndic Blondel!" The moment the words had passed his lips, Claude repented. He saw that he had struck a note more serious than he intended. The big man did not move, but over his fat face crept a watching expression; he was plainly startled. His eyes, reduced almost to pin-points, seemed for an instant the eyes of a cat about to spring. The effect was so evident indeed that it bewildered Claude and so completely diverted his attention from Grio, the real target, that when the bully, who had listened stupidly to the exchange of wit, proved by a brutal oath his comprehension of the reference to himself, the young man scarcely heard him. "The Syndic Blondel?" Basterga muttered after a pregnant pause. "What know you of him, pray?" Before the young man could answer, Grio broke in. "So you have followed me here, have you?" he cried, striking his jug on the table and glaring across the board at the offender. "You weren't content to escape last night it seems. Now----" "Enough!" Basterga muttered, the keen expression of his face unchanged. "Softly! Softly! Where are we? I don't understand. What is this? Last night----" "I want not to rake up bygones if you will let them be," Claude answered with a sulky air, half assumed. "It was you who attacked me." "You puppy!" Grio roared. "Do you think----"