"Papa!" suddenly exclaimed Spero, "see, there, the flag!"
The count glanced in the direction indicated. A young Italian had just climbed up the tower of a church opposite the Vidiserti palace, and there unfurled the national standard. The tricolor fluttered gayly in the wind. Suddenly, however, the young man was seen to totter; he sought to hold himself, turned a somersault and fell crushed to the pavement. A bullet had hit him.
At this moment Bertuccio entered the hall.
"Well?" asked the count.
"Count, one of our emissaries has penetrated to the citadel. The Marquis Aslitta is no longer there!"
"What can that mean? Had he escaped he would have looked for us here," exclaimed the count uneasily.
"The man could learn nothing further," said Bertuccio, sadly; "but he was informed that some one else was found in the marquis's cell."
"Some one else? Who?"
"You know him. In Paris he called himself Major Cavalcanti, and here—"
"What about this substitute?" eagerly interrupted the count.