“You hear them!” cried the boy, in wild indignation, addressing the Englishmen; “you hear how these wretches draw their infamous allegations! But this shall not serve them as a witness.” And with a spring he seized a large wooden mallet from the floor, and dashed the model in pieces. A cry of horror and rage burst from the bystanders, and as the Englishmen stooped in sorrow over the broken statue, the gendarmes secured the boy's wrists with a stout cord, and led him away. “Go after them, Baynton; tell them he is an Englishman, and that if he comes to harm they 'll hear of it!” cried my lord, eagerly; while he muttered in a lower tone, “I think we might knock these fellows over and liberate him at once, eh, Baynton?” “No use if we did,” replied the other; “they'd overpower us afterwards. Come along to the inn; we'll see about it in the morning.” CHAPTER XXIX. A COUNCIL OF STATE It was a fine mellow evening of the late autumn as two men sat in a large and handsomely furnished chamber opening upon a vast garden. There was something in the dim half-light, the heavily perfumed air, rich with the odor of the orange and the lime, and the stillness, that imparted a sense of solemnity to the scene, where, indeed, few words were interchanged, and each seemed to ponder long after every syllable of the other. We have no mysteries with our reader, and we hasten to say that one of these personages was the Chevalier Stubber,--confidential minister of the Duke of Massa; the other was our old acquaintance Billy Traynor. If there was some faint resemblance in the fortunes of these two men, who, sprung from the humblest walks of life, had elevated themselves by their talents to a more exalted station, there all likeness between them ended. Each represented, in some of the very strongest characteristics, a nationality totally unlike that of the other: the Saxon, blunt, imperious, and decided; the Celt, subtle, quick-sighted, and suspicious, distrustful of all, save his own skill in a moment of difficulty. “But you have not told me his real name yet,” said the Chevalier, as he slowly smoked his cigar, and spoke with the half-listlessness of a careless inquirer. “I know that, sir,” said Billy, cautiously; “I don't see any need of it.” “Nor your own, either,” remarked the other. “Nor even that, sir,” responded Billy, calmly. “It comes to this, then, my good friend,” rejoined Stubber, “that, having got yourself into trouble, and having discovered, by the aid of a countryman, that a little frankness would serve you greatly, you prefer to preserve a mystery that I could easily penetrate if I cared for it, to speaking openly and freely, as a man might with one of his own.”