Next morning he was up betimes, and at a fairly early hour walked along to Coventry Street, where he took up his station at the east corner of Rupert Street, so that he could see any one going westward, himself unseen.  Here he was more successful.  He had not been there ten minutes when Reitzei passed.  Calabressa hastened after him, overtook him, and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Ah, Calabressa!” said Reitzei, surprised, but in noway disconcerted.

“I wish to speak with you,” said Calabressa, himself a little agitated, though he did not show it.

“Certainly; come along.  Mr. Lind will arrive soon.”

“No, alone.  I wish to speak to you alone.”

Calabressa looked around.  The only place of shelter he saw was a rather shabby restaurant, chiefly used as a supper-room, and at this moment having the appearance of not being yet woke up.  Reitzei was in a compliant mood.  He suffered himself to be conducted into this place, to the astonishment of one or two unwashed-looking waiters, who were seated and reading the previous evening’s papers.  Calabressa and Reitzei sat down at one of the small tables; the former ordered some coffee, the latter a bottle of soda-water.

By this time Calabressa had collected himself for the part he was about to play.

“Well, my friend,” said he, cheerfully, “what news?  When is Europe to hear the fate of the Cardinal?”

“I don’t know; I know very little about it,” said Reitzei, glancing at him rather suspiciously.

“It is a terrible business,” said Calabressa, reflectively, “a decree of the Council.  You would think that one so powerful, so well protected, would be able to escape, would you not?  But he himself knows better.  He knows he is as powerless as you might be, for example, or myself.”

“Oh, as for that,” said Reitzei, boldly, “he knows he has deserved it:  what more?  He has had his little fling, now comes the settlement of the score.”

“And I hear that our friend Brand is to be the instrument of justice:  how strange!  He has not been so long with us.”

“That is Mr. Lind’s affair:  it has nothing to do with me,” said Reitzei, shortly.

“Well,” said Calabressa, toying with his coffee-cup.  “I hope I shall never be tempted to do anything that might lead the Council to condemn me.  Fancy such a life; every moment expecting some one to step up behind you with a knife or a pistol, and the end sure!  I would take Provana’s plan.  The poor devil; as soon as he heard he had been condemned he could not bear living.  He never thought of escape:  a few big stones in the pockets of his coat, and over he slips into the Arno.  And Mesentskoff:  you remember him?  His only notion of escape was to give himself up to the police—­twenty-five years in the mines.  I think Provana’s plan was better.”

Reitzei became a little uneasy, or perhaps only impatient.

“Well, Calabressa,” he said, “one must be getting along to one’s affairs—­”