e
were concerned, but to our perfect understanding, that a visitor had
arrived. I saw Brunow wave permission to the visitor to enter, and
understood quite clearly what was going on, though at this moment the
pattering of the rain and the sudden sigh of the wind robbed my ears
of even the murmur of his voice. The servant retired, leaving the door
open, and the quartet of conspirators bent towards each other while
Sacovitch spoke. I watched the movement of his forefinger and the motion
of his lips. The glint of his eye, the elevation of his brow, and the
inclination of his head towards the open door all meant caution, and
I could tell as clearly as if I had heard his words that he was taking
upon himself the burden and responsibility of an approaching interview.
An instant later the servant reappeared, laying a needless hand upon the
door and swaying it open by a superfluous inch or two as he introduced
the visitor.

"Roncivalli!" whispered Hinge, in a tone of unutterable amazement as the
man came in.

I thought myself prepared for anything; but the presence of such a man
in such company astonished me profoundly. Roncivalli was one of the most
trusted of our committee, an Italian _pur sang_, a man whose family had
suffered from Austrian misrule for half a century back. He represented
a house which had been rich and noble, and had been persecuted into
nothingness. No man had been louder in denunciation of the Austrian
cruelty, no man apparently more sincere. There never lived a man who
had more reason for sincerity. My first impression was that he must
be spying upon the spies, for my opinion of his patriotism had been so
lofty, that next to the Count Rossano and poor old Ruffiano, whom Brunow
had betrayed, I should have counted him the last man in all the Italian
ranks to be bought by Austrian gold.

He came in, hat in hand, with a sweeping salute to the ladies, and
tossing his sombrero on the sofa, dripping wet as it was, unbuttoned
with both hands a paletot shining with rain, and displayed himself
in evening-dress, with a big jewel shining in the centre of his
shirt-front, after a fashion which became popular a score of years
later. Sacovitch stepped forward to help him divest himself of his
cloak; and when it was slipped from his shoulders he held it with one
hand, groping in the pockets from one side to the other, and in the
meantime nodded round with a smiling air, with an allusion which I
understood a second lat