"Well," said Von Apsberg, growing every moment more nervous, for he saw the approach of the necessity of this terrible explanation; "well, in the absence of proof, our brethren indulge in conjectures." As he spoke, the words seemed riveted to his lips, and to break from them with difficulty.
"What are those conjectures?" said Monte-Leone, resuming his sang-froid; for the idea that there was a suspicion in relation to his honor, was not within the compass of his thought. He began to seek a remedy almost before he knew what was the evil which menaced him.
"They say," said Von Apsberg, with hesitation, "that some traitor has insinuated himself among us and betrayed us to the secret police—that he has sold us to our enemies, and that the arrests of our brothers are the fruits of his treason."
"Who is that man?" said Monte-Leone.
"Who is he?" said Von Apsberg, and his very heart grew cold.
"Yes! who? who is he?" said Monte-Leone.
Von Apsberg was about to speak; the bolt was about to fall. His two friends ceased almost to breathe, when the door of the room was rung violently.
"Who can it be at this hour?" said d'Harcourt.
"I cannot tell," said the Doctor, "I expect no one."
The bell was rung again.