TARSIS spared no pains in the laying of a plan, but that done, and the work of execution satisfactorily begun, he awaited the result with confidence and equable temper. It was so with even such an exceptional emprise as that of taking the life of Mario Forza. With the decoying letter in the post-office, he felt that the affair was well in train; so he went to his bed and slept soundly. It lacked something less than two hours of mid-day when he rang for his _valet de chambre_. Instead of the usual prompt appearance of that individual, he was surprised by the sleek face of Beppe at the door; it was a pale and haggard face as well this morning, with alarm looking out from its heavy eyes. His voice and his hand trembled while he explained that all the other domestics had quit the palace an hour before. “What is the matter?” Tarsis asked, eyeing him keenly. “Signore, they were afraid to stay any longer.” “Of what are they afraid?” “The mob, signore; the mob! Much has happened since you went to bed. The working people have gone mad. A gang of them entered the palace of the Corvini and sacked it, they say, from cellar to roof besides killing the young Duke and three of the servants who tried to drive them back. It is war, signore. Look!” He went to the window and swept back the drapery, to reveal the scene of a military camp. On the opposite side of the Corso, within the paling of the Public Gardens, a regiment of infantry was bivouacked. For an absorbed minute Tarsis stared out, as Beppe thought, upon the rows of white tents and patrolling sentries; but he had seen a solitary figure moving toward the Venetian Gate that had more interest for him. There was no mistaking that forward bend of the head and slinking movement. It was the Panther. Tarsis consulted his watch and wondered if his accomplice were thus early on his way to the monastery. Then he turned to Beppe and remarked, in the tone of one coolly weighing the situation: “This part of the city, I take it, has been saved from disorder so far?” “Yes, signore. The troops have cut off the quarters of the Porta Romana, Porta Ticinese, and Porta Garibaldi from the rest of the town; but, if the signore will permit me, there is no telling how long they will be able to hold their position. Signor Ulrich says the rioters may break through and attack this part of the city at any moment.” He spoke with a shudder and gave a look of warning to his master. “Signor Ulrich?” Tarsis repeated. “When have you seen him?” “This moment, signore. He is without.” “Ask him to wait.”