By this time it was getting dark, and people were beginning to leave the Cascine for dinner. Quite ignorant that he was being followed, Carson, in the highest spirits, drove along the Lung 'Arno, and in a short time his carriage turned into the Piazza Santa Trinita, where it stopped before the door of the Hotel du Sud, opposite to the column. Clara and her friend alighted and disappeared into the hotel. Aldean jumped down, and, bidding the coachman to wait, ran up the steps in mortal terror lest he should miss them. The _concierge_--a vision of gold lace and moustache--advanced with a smile, and in French begged to know what Monsieur might require. "I want to see the lady and gentleman who have just come in," replied Aldean, in the same language. "Signor and Signora Boldini," said the man. "Assuredly, Monsieur; they are on the first floor. Shall I present the card of Monsieur?" "There is no necessity. Take me upstairs and show me the room; Signor Boldini expects me," said Aldean, making the best excuse he could think of at the moment. "In that case, I shall conduct Monsieur with pleasure," replied the gold-laced personage, in his magnificent way. "Will Monsieur give himself the trouble to ascend?" Monsieur did, and was speedily ushered into a gilded and ornate salon. In Italian the man announced that a gentleman desired to see Signor Boldini. He closed the door, leaving Aldean face to face with Carson. Clara paled somewhat as she recognized the visitor, but she kept her head. She evidently meant to see things through. Carson shrank back at the sight of Aldean as though expectant of a blow, and collapsed into a chair nerveless and terrified. Jim looked on grimly. "Well, Mr. Carson," he said, in no very amiable tone, "you have given me a considerable amount of trouble. What have you to say for yourself?" "What need he say?" cried Clara, seeing that her accomplice was incapable of speech. "How dare you come in here uninvited, Lord Aldean?" "Dare is not a word, young woman, that I am accustomed to hear from domestic servants." "I am no servant," replied Clara, with a flash of anger. "Thought not," said Jim, coolly. "I never believed you were, but I hardly expected to find that your real profession was that of spy." "A spy, a spy! What do you mean?" "Oh, I think you know pretty well. The report you made to your uncle Jeremiah was the work of a spy." "My uncle!" gasped Clara, steadying herself by the table. "Yes; your uncle. I know all about him, so does Mr. Mallow, so does Miss Bellairs." "My wife?" murmured Carson, speaking for the first time. "Oh, you have found your tongue at last, have you?" cried Jim, striding over to the trembling coward. "I wonder why I don't throw you out of the window." "This violence--this insult----" panted the man. "Oh, don't be afraid; I'm not going to make a mess of you just yet. How dare you call Miss Bellairs your wife?" "I--I was married to her."