This incoherent reply was suddenly arrested by the steady fixture of Ignatius's eyes. A pause ensued, doubly painful to Louis, on account of the shock his expectations had received, and because he had so weakly betrayed it. With the tint of shame displacing the paleness of disappointment, he stood before his father's friend, looking on the ground; at last the Sieur spoke. "What army do you speak of?" With encreased embarrassment, Louis replied: "the Spanish army; that which the Marquis Santa Cruz gave my uncle to understand was soon to march against Austria, to compel the Emperor to fulfil his broken treaties." "And to meet that army in the heart of the Austrian capital," said Ignatius, "you thought was the object of your present summons?" Unable to speak, from a humiliating consciousness of absurdity, Louis coloured a deeper scarlet, and again cast his eyes to the ground. "No," continued the Sieur, "there are ways of forcing sovereigns to do their duties, besides that which the sword commands. If it will sooth your disappointment, to think that you labour in one of these, believe what you wish, and rest satisfied." "I am satisfied," returned Louis, "and ready to be confined within these walls, at whatever employment, and for whatever time, my father may chuse to dictate." "Follow me." As Ignatius pronounced this command, he opened the saloon door, and crossing the gallery, stopped before another door at its extremity. He unlocked it; and Louis, who had obeyed his peremptory summons, followed him into a room furnished with an escritoire, and a large table covered with implements for writing. "This, Louis de Montemar, is your post," cried the Sieur, closing the door and bolting it. "Here you must labour for Spain and your own destiny; and here," added he, in a decisive voice; "you must take an oath of inviolable secrecy, that neither bribery of wealth, honours, nor beauty; nor threats of ruin, torments, nor of death; shall ever induce you to betray what may be confided to you in this chamber." Appalled at this demand, Louis did not answer. The Sieur examined his changing countenance. "You cannot hesitate to give me this pledge of honour!" "Honour does not need such a pledge," replied Louis, turning on him the assured look of conscious worth; "trust me, and you shall find, that in no case where honour enjoins silence, death itself can compel me to speak." Ignatius shook his head.-- "This will not do, in an affair like the present. When the interests of millions may hang upon a yea or nay; he, who has it in his power to pronounce either, must be bound on the perdition of his soul to utter that only which ensures the general safety." He paused for an answer. But Louis remaining silent, as if still unconvinced, his stern monitor resumed with augmented asperity.