With a look of most meaning entreaty he besought the Abbé to keep silence, while he crept noiselessly over and turned the key. D'Esmonde uttered an exclamation of anger, and, sweeping past a window, within which stood a magnificent vase of malachite, he caught the costly object in the wide folds of his gown, and dashed it to the ground in a thousand pieces. De Grasse gave a sudden cry of horror, and at the same instant Midchekoff knocked at the door, and demanded admittance. With faltering hand the secretary turned the key, and the Prince entered the room, casting his eyes from D'Esmonde to the floor, where the fragments lay, and back again to the priest, with a significance that showed how he interpreted the whole incident. As for the Abbé, he looked as coldly indifferent to the accident as though it were the veriest trifle he had destroyed. “I came to have a few moments' interview with you, Prince,” said he, calmly; “can you so far oblige me?” “I am entirely at your orders, Monsignore,” said the Russian, with a faint smile. “Allow me to conduct you to a chamber in less disorder than this one.” The Abbé bowed, and followed him, not seeming to hear the allusion. And now, passing through a number of rooms, whose gorgeous furniture was carefully covered, they reached a small chamber opening upon a conservatory, where a breakfast-table was already spread. “I will waste neither your time nor my own, Prince, by an apology for the hour of this visit, nor the place; my business did not admit of delay--that will excuse me in your eyes.” The Prince gave a cold bow, but never spoke. D'Esmonde resumed. “I have heard the news from the camp: Lord Norwood tells me that the Austrians have fallen back, and with a heavy loss too.” “Not heavy!” said the Russian, with a smile. “Enough, however, to raise the hopes and strengthen the courage of the others. Goito was, at least, a victory.” A faint shrug of the shoulders was the only reply the Prince made, and the Abbé went on: “Things are too critical, Prince, to treat the event slightingly. We cannot answer either for France or England; still less can we rely on the politicians of Vienna. A second or a third reverse, and who can say that they will not treat for a peace, at the cost of half the States of Lombardy. Nay, sir, I am not speaking without book,” added he, more warmly; “I know--I repeat it----I know that such a negotiation has been entertained, and that at this moment the Cabinet of England has the matter in its consideration.” “It may be so,” said the Prince, carelessly, as he poured out his coffee.