“He is in masquerade.”
“You should not have allowed him to go,” said the duke to Franz; “you, who know Rome better than he does.”
“You might as well have tried to stop number three of the barberi, who gained the prize in the race today,” replied Franz; “and then moreover, what could happen to him?”
“Who can tell? The night is gloomy, and the Tiber is very near the Via Macello.” Franz felt a shudder run through his veins at observing that the feeling of the duke and the countess was so much in unison with his own personal disquietude.
“I informed them at the hotel that I had the honor of passing the night here, duke,” said Franz, “and desired them to come and inform me of his return.”
“Ah,” replied the duke, “here I think, is one of my servants who is seeking you.”
The duke was not mistaken; when he saw Franz, the servant came up to him.
“Your excellency,” he said, “the master of the Hôtel de Londres has sent to let you know that a man is waiting for you with a letter from the Viscount of Morcerf.”
“A letter from the viscount!” exclaimed Franz.
“Yes.”
“And who is the man?”
“I do not know.”
“Why did he not bring it to me here?”
“The messenger did not say.”
“And where is the messenger?”
“He went away directly he saw me enter the ball-room to find you.”
“Oh,” said the countess to Franz, “go with all speed—poor young man! Perhaps some accident has happened to him.”
“I will hasten,” replied Franz.
“Shall we see you again to give us any information?” inquired the countess.
“Yes, if it is not any serious affair, otherwise I cannot answer as to what I may do myself.”
“Be prudent, in any event,” said the countess.
“Oh! pray be assured of that.”
Franz took his hat and went away in haste. He had sent away his carriage with orders for it to fetch him at two o’clock; fortunately the Palazzo Bracciano, which is on one side in the Corso, and on the other in the Square of the Holy Apostles, is hardly ten minutes’ walk from the Hôtel de Londres.
As he came near the hotel, Franz saw a man in the middle of the street. He had no doubt that it was the messenger from Albert. The man was wrapped up in a large cloak. He went up to him, but, to his extreme astonishment, the stranger first addressed him.
“What wants your excellency of me?” inquired the man, retreating a step or two, as if to keep on his guard.
“Are not you the person who brought me a letter,” inquired Franz, “from the Viscount of Morcerf?”
“Your excellency lodges at Pastrini’s hotel?”
“I do.”
“Your excellency is the travelling companion of the viscount?”
“I am.”
“Your excellency’s name——”
“Is the Baron Franz d’Épinay.”
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“Then it is to your excellency that this letter is addressed.”
“Is there any answer?” inquired Franz, taking the letter from him.
“Yes—your friend at least hopes so.”
“Come upstairs with me, and I will give it to you.”
“I prefer waiting here,” said the messenger, with a smile.
“And why?”
“Your excellency will know when you have read the letter.”