Without replying, the Vicomte took his father's arm, and followed by the old secretary, and surrounded by the police agents, went to the house. The Duke, during the whole route, did not speak, but sobbed audibly. From time to time, he clasped the arm of his son as if he would have retained possession of him. When they returned home, Marie, who thought her brother safe, uttered a cry of terror, and fainted. The Duke hurried to her side and sent for her women to take care of her. The Vicomte, in the interim, was taken to his room by M. H----, to be present at the examination of his papers. A few minutes after, the door was thrown open, and Count Monte-Leone entered. Faithful to the promise he had made to the Marquise to ask no explanation from Taddeo of the outrage he had received, he had come to obtain satisfaction from René. The appearance of the police in the vestibule of the house, the terrified air of the servants, made Monte-Leone apprehend some new disaster. He entered the room without being impeded, for the guards had orders to keep persons from going out, not from entering. "Ah, Count," said the Duke, when he saw Monte-Leone, "you are come to share our trouble. My son is arrested and lost." "Arrested?" "Yes; as an accomplice in one of those awful plots in which you were yourself once involved. What sorrow to my house!" "Where is he now--has he left the hotel?" asked the Count. "No, sir," said the secretary, "the police is now examining his papers." "His papers seized! You were right, sir, in what you said--your son is lost." The Duke, with an activity and vehemence due entirely to the over-excitement caused by his misfortune, said, "And how, Monsieur, do you know any thing about my son's papers?" "I know but too well," said the Count in despair; "for I shall doubtless ere long share his fate and captivity, as I have his hopes and anticipations." "Alas!" said the Duke, "your antecedents, your exalted opinions, a powerful instinct which cannot deceive a father's heart, all tell me that you have led my son astray. You have ruined him." Before the Count could reply, the Vicomte returned, followed by M. H----, chief of the political police, and his officers. "My father," said the Vicomte, "I was unwilling to leave the hotel without imploring your pardon for the wrong I have done you." He knelt before the Duke, who could scarcely stand. "I forgive you, my son, for having thus wrung from me the only tears I ever shed on your account. They are bitter, though, indeed, and cannot but shorten my life." Marie had recovered, and embraced her brother. What the Duke said to his son, the tender and touching embrace of the young girl, appeared not to be observed by René. His glance was fixed, and stern, and full of horror. His features were discomposed by violent rage, and, pointing to Count Monte-Leone, he exclaimed: