“Probably there may be other questions upon which he will prove equally obdurate,” said the Abbé, in a voice only audible to the Viscount “Is her Ladyship at liberty to marry again?” “I cannot, I grieve to say, give you any information on that point,” said Norwood, growing deep red as he spoke. “As your Lordship is going to England--” “I didn't say so. I don't remember that I told you that!” cried he, hastily. “Pardon me if I made such a palpable mistake; but it ran in my head that you said something to that purport.” “It won't do, Abbé! it won't do,” said Norwood, in a low whisper. “We, who have graduated at the 'Red House' are just as wide awake as you of Louvain and St. Omer.” D'Esmonde looked at him with an expression of blank astonishment, and seemed as if he had not the most vague suspicion as to what the sarcasm referred. “When can I have half an hour with you, Morlache?” said the Viscount “Whenever it suits you, my Lord. What say you to to-morrow morning at eleven?” “No, no! let it be later; I must have a ten hours' sleep after all this fatigue, and the sooner I begin the better.” “Where do you put up, my Lord,--at the Hôtel de l'Arno?” asked the Abbé. “No; I wish we were there with all my heart; but, to do us honor, they have given us quarters at the 'Crocetto,' that dreary asylum for stray archdukes and vagabond grand-duchesses, in the farthest end of the city. We are surrounded with chamberlains, aides-de-camp, and guards of honor. The only thing they have forgotten is a cook. So I 'll come and dine here to-morrow.” “You do me great honor, my Lord. I 'm sure the Abbé D'Esmonde will favor us with his company also.” “If it be possible, I will,” said the Abbé. “Nothing but necessity would make me relinquish so agreeable a prospect.” “Well, till our next meeting,” said the Viscount, yawning, as he put on his hat “It's too late to expect Midchekoff here to-night, and so good-bye. The streets are clear by this time, I trust.” “A shrewd fellow, too,” said Morlache, looking after him. “No, Morlache, not a bit of it!” said D'Esmonde. “Such intellects bear about the same proportion to really clever men as a good swordsman does to a first-rate operator in surgery. They handle a coarse weapon, and they deal with coarse antagonists. Employ them in a subtle negotiation or a knotty problem, and you might as well ask a sergeant of the Blues to take up the femoral artery. Did you not remark awhile ago that, for the sake of a sneer, he actually betrayed a secret about Sir Stafford Onslow's will?” “And you believe all that to be true?” “Of course I do. The only question is whether the Irish property, which, if I remember aright, was settled on Lady Hester at her marriage, can be fettered by any of these conditions? That alone amounts to some thousands a year, and would be a most grateful accession to those much-despised brethren his Lordship alluded to.” “You can learn something about that point to-morrow, when he dines here.”