"She could betray no secret," Calabressa said, triumphantly, "she herself not knowing it, do you not perceive? But she could speak bravely!"
"And the result?"
"Who knows what that may be? In the mean time, this is the result—I am here!"
At another moment this assumption of dignity would have been ludicrous; but Brand took no heed of the manner of his companion; his heart was beating wildly. And even when his reason forced him to see how little he could expect from this intervention—when he remembered what a decree of the Council was, and how irrevocable the doom he had himself accepted—still the thought uppermost in his mind was not of his own safety or danger, but rather of her love and devotion, her resolve to rescue him, her quick and generous impulse that knew nothing of fear. He pictured her to himself in Naples, calling upon this nameless and secret power, that every man around him dreaded, to reverse its decision! And then the audacity of her bidding him hope! He could not hope; he knew more than she did. But his heart was full of love and of gratitude as he thought of her.
"My dear friend," said Calabressa, lowering his voice, "my errand is one of great secrecy. I have a commission which I cannot altogether explain to you. But in the mean time you will be so good as to give me—in extense, with every particular—the little history of how you were appointed to—to undertake a certain duty."
"Unfortunately, I cannot," Brand said, calmly; "these are things one is not permitted to talk about."
"But I must insist on it, my dear friend."
"Then I must insist on refusing you."
"You are trustworthy. No matter: here is something which I think will remove your suspicions, my good friend—or shall we not rather say your scruples?"
He took from his pocket-book a card, and placed it somewhat ostentatiously on the table. Brand examined it, and then stared at Calabressa in surprise.