On the evening of the lesson given by the Prince to the Marquis de Maulear, the Count presented Taddeo to Mme. de Bruneval, and while the play seemed animated in various parts of the room, the _Carbonari_ talked in a neighboring room of a plan conceived by several wealthy Americans who were affiliated with the society, of a plan to bear off the Emperor Napoleon from his prison at St. Helena, and carry him to France. Important, however, as the subject was, the Count paid but little attention to it. He was then at one of the most painful crises of his life. In about an hour he would need all his courage and persuasion to combat and conquer one of the greatest obstacles man can meet with in his career--the will of an energetic and passionate woman. Not long before, Monte-Leone had received the following note: "For fifteen days I have not seen you. I do not know why you avoid me. I had rather die than continue to live thus. I wish to hear my fate from your own lips. For eight days _he_ will be away. Come--if you refuse me--if you are not with me when midnight comes, it will be the proof of an eternal adieu, and I will cease to live." The Count waited with impatience for the period of this terrible interview. He knew the feeling which had inspired this note, how full of irrepressible indignation her mind was, and that it would shrink from no danger and no excess. He sought in vain to shake off Taddeo, but since the scene in Verneuil street, when the wretch set to watch Monte-Leone had been overheard by Rovero, the young man had been almost heart-broken. On this evening, though, he did not lose sight of Taddeo for an instant. The Count saw with terror that the time was drawing near, yet he could not leave the room. Taking advantage of a moment when Taddeo was not by, the Count was about to leave, when a noise was heard in the anteroom. The door was thrown open, and a man with a white scarf advanced amid the company. There was no possibility of mistake, for justice, herself, as the Prince de Maulear had told his son, had come into the gaming-house, disguised as a Commissary of Police. All who were present felt the greatest uneasiness--they were about to be arrested on the double charge of _Carbonarism_ and forbidden play. Was it to the gamesters or to the _Carbonari_ that the Commissary paid his visit? All were excited, though from different motives. "Madame," said the Commissary, exhibiting his warrant to Madame Bruneval, who, like the commander of a besieged place, sought to parley with the enemy; "you are the widow of Colonel de Bruneval." "I am, sir," said the German lady, whose color became greater than ever, "and cannot conceive why I should be thus insulted. I am not, I suppose, under the surveillance of the police."