Chapter Twenty Four.
In the Chamber of Deputies.
The man who had laid such an elaborate plot against His Excellency stood hesitating and confounded. He had never dreamed that Dubard, upon whom he had relied so implicitly, would be seized with this sudden caprice to defend Morini. Mary might have persuaded him to adopt this course, he reflected, yet he knew Jules too well as a man in whose heart there did not exist a single spark of either respect or true affection for the opposite sex.
“Come,” exclaimed the elegant Frenchman, with a look of determination on his pallid countenance. “Write the note quickly, or it will be too late. Recollect, if Montebruno speaks, I shall tell the truth.”
“And betray me?”
“Of necessity.”
Then Angelo Borselli, seeing that all his elaborate preparations for a coup were checkmated by the very man who had rendered him such valuable help, threw himself into a chair, and muttering some hard words, scribbled three lines to the man, his puppet, who was to hurl those terrible charges against the Minister of War.
“Good,” exclaimed Dubard airily, as he took the letter and thrust it into his pocket. “You have done well to save your own reputation, my dear Angelo. It would not be wise for the public to know everything, would it? Excuse me running away so quickly, but I have only just time to drive down to the Camera.” And snatching up his hat he rushed out, leaving the Under-Secretary standing in the centre of the room, silent in disappointment and chagrin.
Meanwhile, in the Chamber the excitement among the Socialist group had gradually increased as the hands of the big clock moved on towards the hour of five. They watched Montebruno seated in his place armed with many formidable documents, and saw how he was preparing himself for one of those oratorical efforts for which he was so famous. He was a thin, black-bearded man with small dark eyes and aquiline features—a man who had made the law a stepping-stone to politics like so many of his confrères. Time after time he fidgeted, changed his position, stroked his beard thoughtfully, and re-examined his papers, every action being watched anxiously by his party, among whom it was whispered that he was to put some sensational question—but of what character was to them a mystery.