Suddenly the ensign rose to his feet, made a sign of attention with his head, leaned out of the window, and then, calling in a quick, low tone to the count, who was reclining on the bed, said: "Come, come!" "What is the matter?" Henri inquired, arousing himself by a strong effort from his reverie. "The man! the man!" "What man?" "The man in the overcoat, the spy!" "Oh!" exclaimed Henri, springing from the bed to the window, and leaning on the ensign. "Stay," continued the ensign; "do you see him yonder? He is creeping along the hedge; wait a moment, he will show himself again. Now look toward that spot which is illuminated by the moon's rays, there he is; there he is." "Yes." "Do you not think he is a sinister-looking fellow?" "Sinister is the very word," replied Du Bouchage, in a gloomy voice. "Do you believe he is a spy?" "I believe nothing, and yet I believe everything." "See, he is going from the prince's pavilion to the conservatories." "The prince's pavilion is in that direction, then?" inquired Du Bouchage, indicating with his finger the direction from which the stranger appeared to be proceeding. "Do you see that light whose rays are trembling through the leaves of the trees."--"Well?" "That is the dining-room." "Ah!" exclaimed Henri, "see, he makes his appearance again." "Yes, he is no doubt going to the conservatories to join his companion? Did you hear that?" "What?" "The sound of a key turning in the lock." "It is singular," said Du Bouchage; "there is nothing unusual in all this, and yet--" "And yet you are trembling, you were going to say?" "Yes," said the count; "but what is that?" The sound of a bell was heard. "It is the signal for the supper of the prince's household; are you going to join us at supper, count?" "No, I thank you, I do not require anything; and, if I should feel hungry, I will call for what I may need." "Do not wait for that, monsieur; but come and amuse yourself in our society." "Nay, nay, it is impossible." "Why so?" "His royal highness almost directed me to have what I should need served to me in my own apartment; but do not let me delay you." "Thank you, count, good-evening; do not lose sight of our phantom." "Oh! rely upon me for that; unless," added Henri, who feared he might have said too much, "unless, indeed, I should be overtaken by sleep, which seems more than probable, and a far more healthy occupation than that of watching shadows and spies." "Certainly," said the ensign, laughingly, as he took leave of Henri du Bouchage. Hardly had he quitted the library than Henri darted into the garden. "Oh!" he murmured, "it is Remy! it is Remy! I should know him again in the darkness of hell itself." And the young man, as he felt his knees tremble beneath him, buried his burning forehead in his cold damp hands.