A swirling autumnal mist swept over the port and entered the town of La Rochelle whose streets and houses transformed its chill into a gentle dew. The salty tang of the sea air pervaded the atmosphere. It clung to the doors and shutters, still firmly closed and battened down, and shone on the stone cobbles encircling the Lantern Tower, down the Rue Saint Jean, through the Cours des Dames and seemed to hover prophetically around the courthouse.
Judge Boivin had convened an urgent meeting with his mayor, harbour master and general of the barracks. His bishop’s words of the previous day haunted him, the chilling thought of hostile invaders who could assume the privileges and powers he had worked for so long to make his own, had created a state of frightened stupor in his mind.
The mayor was
