“The real pressure of these fellows,” whispered the Count, still lower, “is menace! Menace it was brought about the war with Austria, and it remains to be seen if menace cannot undo its consequences. Killing a king is trying an unknown remedy; threatening to kill him is coercing his policy. And what are you about just now, Giacomo?” added he, louder. “Little jobs here and there, signor, as I get them; but this morning, as I was mending a small organ at the Duc de Broglie's, an agent of the police called to say I had better leave Paris.” “And when?” “To-night, sir. I leave by the midnight mail for Lyons, and shall be in Turin by Saturday.” “And will the authorities take his word, and suffer him to go his road without surveillance?” whispered Maitland. “_Si, signor!_” interposed Giacomo, whose quick Italian ear had caught the question. “I won't say that they'll not telegraph down the whole line, and that at every station a due report will not be made of me; but I am prepared for that, and I take good care not even to ask a light for my cigar from any one who does not wear a French uniform.” “If I had authority here, Master Giacomo,” said Maitland, “it's not you, nor fellows like you, I 'd set at liberty.” “And the noble signor would make a great mistake, that's all.” “Why so?” “It would be like destroying the telegraph wires because one received an unpleasant despatch,” said Giacomo, with a grin. “The fellow avows, then, that he is a spy, and betrays his fellows,” whispered Maitland. “I 'd be very sorry to tell him so, or hear you tell him so,” whispered the Count, with a laugh. “Well, Giacomo,” added he, aloud, “I 'll not detain you longer. We shall probably be on t' other side of the Alps ourselves in a few days, and shall meet again. A pleasant journey and a safe one to you!” He adroitly slipped some napoleons into the man's hand as he spoke. “_Tanti saluti_ to all our friends, Giacomo,” said he, waving his hand in adieu; and Giacomo seized it and kissed it twice with an almost rapturous devotion, and withdrew. “Well,” cried Maitland, with an irritable vibration in his tone, “this is clear and clean beyond me. What can you or I have in common with a fellow of this stamp; or supposing that we could have anything, how should we trust him?”