Pignana bowed again.
"Your appearance," said the Count, "is certainly very honest and respectable. The fund of honesty is, however, perhaps not so good; for as a smuggler, a skimmer of the seas——, but I stop here, lest I should displease you, for you may, after all, have something on your conscience. There is, you know, a certain Neapolitan Ambassador at Paris who was once a minister of police in our beautiful country. Now, Signor Pignana, people never have to do with the police without some very unpleasant consequences. I have an idea also that the Duke of Palma, at whose house I was a fortnight ago, did not fail to inform the Prefect of the Police of the city, of my being in Paris. This is a delicate attention from one police to another. The Duke, also, probably pointed out many of my old acquaintances, among whom you have the honor to be; you will understand, by aid of your knowledge of doubtful affairs, that if it be known that I receive you here, people will not think you come to teach me to play the mandoline, on which instrument you are, I learn, a great performer. Consequently, and not to rob myself of your invaluable services, and the care over my household which you exercise, we have made a means of entrance for you here, and through him you can communicate with me—how Signor Pignana, an intelligent man like you, should understand this, without its being necessary for me to give all these details."
"I am delighted to be assured," said Signor Pignana, proudly, "that without these grave reasons the Count would not be unwilling to see me."
"But," said Taddeo, "what is the danger of which you spoke just now?"
"Ah! Signor Taddeo Rovero!" said the shrewd Pignana, who had recognized the voice of the young man.
"This is bad!" murmured Frederick.
"I am delighted to meet Signor Taddeo Rovero," said Pignana, "especially as what I have to say relates also to him."
"To me?" said Taddeo.
"Come to the point, then," said the Count.
"Thus it is, Monsignore," said Pignana: "I was, in obedience to orders, hanging about your excellency's house, and until to-day never saw any thing suspicious. This evening I saw two dark figures planted opposite to your hotel, at the corner of Verneuil-street. The motionless position of these men seemed strange, and the manner that they examined others who came in and out of the hotel was more so, until at last I became satisfied that they watched you. I was confirmed in this when approaching them in the dark I heard one of the men say to his companion: 'He has gone out on foot, his carriage has not left!'"