At ten he presented himself once more. The Cardinal and his friend were taking coffee, but less joyous, it seemed, than before. At least they looked anxious for news, and started at every noise in the street that might announce new-come tidings. “We have heard nothing since you were here,” said the Cardinal. “His Excellency thinks that, at a moment of immense exigency, they may not have immediately bethought them of sending off a despatch.” “There can be no doubt what the news will be when it comes,” said the Envoy, “and I’d say, make the arrests at once.” “I don’t know; I’m not sure. I think I’d rather counsel a little more patience,” said the Cardinal. “What if you were to come back at, let us say, midnight.” The Prefect bowed, and withdrew. At midnight it was the same scene, only that the actors were more agitated; the Envoy, at least, worked up to a degree of impatience that bordered on fever; for while he persisted in declaring that the result was certain, he continued to censure, in very-severe terms, the culpable carelessness of those charged with the transmission of news. “Ah!” cried he, “there it comes at last!” and a loud summons at the bell resounded through the house. “A telegram, Eminence,” said the servant, entering with the despatch. The Envoy tore it open: there were but two words,--“_Sanglante déroute_.” The Cardinal took the paper from the hands of the overwhelmed and panic-struck minister, and read it. He stood for a few seconds gazing on the words, not a line or lineament in his face betraying the slightest emotion; then, turning to the Envoy, he said, “Bon soir; allons dormir;” and moved away with his usual quick little step, and retired. And all this time I have been forgetting the Italian fleet, which lies yonder beneath me. The Garibaldi, that they took from the Neapolitans; the Duca di Genova, the Maria Adelaide, and the Regina are there, all screw-propellers of fifty guns each; the Etna, a steam-corvette; and some six or seven old sailing craft, used as school ships; and, lastly, the two cuirassée gunboats, Formidabile and Terribile, and which, with a jealousy imitated from the French, no one is admitted on board of. They are provided with “rams” under the water-line, and have a strange apparatus by which about one-third of the deck towards the bow can be raised, like the lid of a snuff-box, leaving the forepart of the ship almost on a level with the water. Under what circumstances, and how, this provision is to be made available, I have not the very vaguest conception. These vessels were never intended as sea-going ships; and the batteries are an exaggeration of the mistake in the Gloire, for even with the slightest sea the ports must be closed. Besides this defect, they roll abominably, and with a full head of steam on they cannot accomplish seven knots.