The clock of the Hotel de Ville struck eleven, when the three friends met in rear of the Prefecture of Police. They followed strictly the directions of the anonymous letter. They discovered the back door and stood in its shadow, being concealed by an angle in the wall. They waited there. Carriage after carriage passed, and their hearts beat violently as each approached. The carriages crossed the _quai_ but did not stop. At about a quarter after eleven came a carriage driven rapidly, but which relaxed its speed as it reached the _quai de Orfevres_; it then paused a few feet only from the angle of the wall where the Carbonari were concealed. The steps were let down and the person in the carriage descended and walked rapidly to the back door of the Prefecture. In spite, though, of his haste, the Carbonari could not but remark the stature, tournure, cloak, and bearing of the stranger. The door was opened. The three friends followed and were able to hear him say, "Count Monte-Leone."
Taddeo hurried to the carriage which was on the point of leaving.
"All doubt is gone," said Taddeo. "The carriage is his."
"They are _his_ horses," said d'Harcourt.
"It is his driver," said Von Apsberg. Then speaking to the man who, while surrounded by the three men, began to tremble, "Who is the person who came in the carriage?" said he.
"My master," said the automaton, more dead than alive. "The Count Monte-Leone."
"How?" said the driver, who did not understand the question.
"I wish to know, did you drive him from his hotel, or some other place?"
"My master was to-night at the Neapolitan embassy. I waited for him in the courtyard which was black as a fair on days when there is no reception. After having remained an hour there he got into the carriage and bade me drive to the _quai des Orfevres, near the Prefecture of Police_. Here I am, Monsieur, and so are you. Good night, then."
Whipping up his horses at the risk of driving over two of the young men who stood at their heads, he went away at a gallop.
Von Apsberg, d'Harcourt, and Rovero, were all as white as the snow, which had again begun to fall with violence, and looked at each other with that sympathy of a thousand sentiments which might have been expected in persons so terribly situated as they were. Terror, shame, and despair were all united in their glance. Then by one of those sudden and sublime emotions, they clasped each other's hands as if to say, that, henceforth they could rely on no others. Von Apsberg and the Vicomte, were about to speak, when Taddeo made them wait, and said, "No complaints, no insults. _If it be he_, contempt and death." As he spoke the last word his voice quivered.