"Paris is filled with Carbonari," added d'Harcourt. "Our secret and masonic sign reveals the existence of brothers everywhere to me. I see them in the public places, on the benches of the lawyers, and among the very judges." "True," said Von Apsberg, "and as an evidence of what d'Harcourt says, look at these voluminous names." The friends examined them carefully. "It matters not," said Monte-Leone, "too much precipitation would ruin all. Remember our device, _an auger piercing the globe_." During all this conversation, Taddeo had remained silent and thoughtful, and the Count at last observed it. "My friend," said he, "why are you so sad? Can it be, like d'Harcourt just now, that you have any doubt or scruple about our cause? Do you hesitate at the dangers?" Taddeo, as if he were aroused from a dream, said: "The dangers I anxiously invite, as likely to free me from a life which is become a burden." Monte-Leone grew pale at these words, for he knew the reason of his deep despair; and the iron of remorse pierced his heart. Before, however, Taddeo's friends could question him, a strange accident attracted the attention of the actors of this scene. A noise, at first faint and then louder, which resembled that of the spider in its web, suddenly interrupted the conversation. It seemed to come from the interior of one of the panels. "Here it is," said Monte-Leone, pointing at one of the book-cases. "Yes," said Von Apsberg, with a sign of admiration. "Can we have been overheard?" said d'Harcourt. "I think so," said the false Matheus. The Visconte and Taddeo at once took pistols from their pockets and cocked them. "It is of no use," said the physician, pointing to the arms of his friends. "Put on your disguises, for it is unnecessary even that the brothers should know you. Kant has said, _When there is a secret to be kept it is desirable that all who are intrusted with it should be deaf, blind, and dumb_. Let us then tempt no one, and remember there is no one here but a doctor and two patients." "But the Count," said d'Harcourt, "is he forgotten?" "Ah," said the doctor, "he must be seen." The noise increased, and something of impatience was remarkable in the little taps on the wood-work. "It is he, is it not?" said Monte-Leone. "Yes," said Frederick, "for no one else uses that entrance." Von Apsberg then approached the library and touched a spring which threw open a panel on which the books were arranged. With a key the doctor then opened another door, through which a man entered. The day was advanced, and the shades of night enwrapped almost all the room. The scene we describe took place in the most remote and consequently in the darkest portion of the vast studio. The appearance of the man assumed a terrible and fantastic air. "Ah! what is there so urgent that you trouble thus, my dear Pignana?" said the Count to the new comer.