In the harbor of Genoa a Swedish and an English ship lie ready for our service; the English one to aid our escape and convey us to England, if our enterprise fails; the Swedish one to serve as a transport vessel, if we succeed.  Everywhere our friends are working, everywhere they are preparing the insurrection; Tyrol is like a well-filled bomb which needs only the application of a spark to burst and scatter confusion around it, and in the minds of individuals patriotism has increased to a fanaticism which deems even murder a justifiable means to rid Europe from the shameful yoke of the tyrant.  If we cannot execute our plan, if we do not succeed in abducting Napoleon, perhaps the dagger of an assassin will he raised against him—­an assassin who does not regard his deed as a crime, but as a sacred duty.”

“And why are we content with an abduction?” asked the count fiercely.  “Why should not the blood of the man who has shed so many torrents of blood, be shed also?”

“Because that would be too light a punishment,” said Kraus, with an expression of gloomy hate.  “Because it would be an atonement for all his crimes, if he fell beneath the daggers of murderers.  Such daggers rendered the tyrant Julius Caesar a hero, a martyr, and they would also transform Napoleon into a demi-god.  No, we will not grant him such a triumph, such a glorious end—­we will not allow him a speedy death.  He shall ignominiously disappear; he shall die slowly on some barren island in the ocean; die amid the tortures of solitude, of weariness, of powerless rage.  This must be the vengeance of Europe; this must be the end of the vampire who has drunk her heart’s blood.”

“You are right? it shall, it must be so,” cried the count, with sparkling eyes.  “Now tell me, what have I to do?  What part is assigned to me?”

“You will go to Genoa, count.  Here is a letter from General Nugent to the captain of the Swedish ship Proserpina, now lying in the harbor.”

“But it is not sealed?” asked the count, taking the paper offered.

“Open it, and you will find that it does not contain a single word.  I received it so from our messenger, who brought it directly from Count Nugent in Heligoland to me.  It is your letter of recommendation, that is all!  Written words might compromise, spoken ones die away upon the wind.  If you deliver this, addressed in General Nugent’s hand, to the captain of the Proserpina, he will recognize you as the right messenger, and you will then tell him verbally what you have to say.”

“What shall I tell him?”

“Tell him to take in his freight, have his ballast on board, and keep everything in readiness for departure.  From the day that you reach him the Proserpina must be ready for sea, and a boat must lie in the harbor night and day to receive the members of our league who will come if the plan succeeds.”

“But I hope this is not all that I have to do?  I shall not be denied a more active part in the great cause?”