been seen by the traveller, and appearing to excite no attention from the guide, followed the stranger with as much skill as a Parisian police agent would have used.
The Frenchman had been so impatient to reach the house of Thomson & French that he would not wait for the horses to be harnessed, but left word for the carriage to overtake him on the road, or to wait for him at the bankers’ door. He reached it before the carriage arrived.
The Frenchman entered, leaving in the anteroom his guide, who immediately entered into conversation with two or three of the industrious idlers who are always to be found in Rome at the doors of banking-houses, churches, museums, or theatres. With the Frenchman, the man who had followed him entered too; the Frenchman knocked at the inner door, and entered the first room; his shadow did the same.
“ Messrs. Thomson & French?” inquired the stranger.
An attendant arose at a sign from a confidential clerk at the first desk.
“Whom shall I announce?” said the attendant.
“Baron Danglars.”
“Follow me,” said the man.
A door opened, through which the attendant and the baron disappeared. The man who had followed Danglars sat down on a bench.
The clerk continued to write for the next five minutes; the man preserved profound silence, and remained perfectly motionless. Then the pen of the clerk ceased to move over the paper; he raised his head, and appearing to be perfectly sure of privacy:
“Ah, ha,” he said, “here you are, Peppino!”