He perfectly understood the advertisement. It was not the first time that newspapers had been employed to do work for the League; nor did he hesitate to avail himself of this golden opportunity. He had scarcely finished his breakfast and made up his mind to meet the mysterious Eastern Eagle, when Salvarini entered. He was moody and preoccupied, with a sombre frown upon his face, telling of much inward uneasiness. ‘I do not like these new arrangements,’ he commenced abruptly, in answer to Le Gautier’s florid greeting. ‘There is great danger in them, and they cannot lead to any good results. I shall oppose them.’ ‘Pray, explain yourself, my good Luigi; I am in Cimmerian darkness,’ Le Gautier replied carelessly. ‘You are so dreadfully in earnest; absolutely, you view life through the gloomy spectacles of the League.’ ‘It is folly, madness!’ Salvarini replied passionately. ‘Heaven knows, we have had bloodshed enough. What do you think the last proposal is?—Nothing less than the removal of ministers: dynamite is to be the agent, and a special mission arranged to Rome. Visci—our dear old friend Visci—is doomed!’ ‘They must be mad,’ Le Gautier returned calmly. ‘But tell me, Luigi, what of Visci?’ he continued, inspired by a sudden thought. ‘I presume you have been holding a Council this morning. Visci used to be a friend of yours. How do they propose to get rid of him?’ ‘The dagger!’ Salvarini answered with great agitation. ‘Visci was once a friend of mine, as you say, and yours too, for that. Heaven save me from the task!’ ‘But why need it be you? We have new members, new blood as yet untried. Let them show their mettle now. There is no reason why we should always be in the van of battle. But why this sudden determination?’ ‘The old story,’ Salvarini continued bitterly—‘private grudges brought in; personal ends to be served where all should be of one accord, all striving for the good of the cause. I am heartsick and weary of the whole affair. Is our path always to be defiled with innocent blood?’ ‘So long as I can keep my hands clean, it is nothing to me,’ Le Gautier replied with a careless shrug; ‘not that I hold with the present system.—But abandon your Cassandra vein, and be yourself for a moment. See what you think of that, and congratulate me upon a stroke of fortune I have not altogether deserved.’ ‘I congratulate you,’ Salvarini grimly replied, when he had perused the paragraph. ‘You always contrive to fall upon your feet. Did I not tell you that night in the Kursaal you would hear of this again? Of course it is a woman. No man would have taken such trouble, especially if he happened to be a Brother,’ he concluded with significant emphasis. Le Gautier drew his fingers airily across his throat, intending by this little playful action to allude to his own sudden death. In his petty vanity, he was not altogether displeased that his friend should hint at a conquest.