Dorsenne was silent.  It was the first affair at which he had assisted, and his nervous anxiety was extreme.

Tragical presentiments oppressed him, and at the same time he apprehended momentarily that, Montfanon’s religious scruples reawakening, he would not only have to seek another second, but would have to defer a solution so near.  However, the struggle which was taking place in the heart of the “old leaguer” between the gentleman and the Christian, was displayed during the drive only by an almost imperceptible gesture.  As the carriage passed the entrance to the catacomb of St. Calixtus, the former soldier of the Pope turned away his head.  Then he resumed the conversation with redoubled energy, to pause in his turn, however, when the landau took, a little beyond the Tomb of Caecilia, a transverse road in the direction of the Ardeatine Way.  It was there that ‘l’Osteria del tempo perso’ was built, upon the ground belonging to Cibo, on which the duel was to take place.

Before l’Osteria, whose signboard was surmounted by the arms of Pope Innocent VIII, three carriages were already waiting—­Gorka’s phaeton, a landau which had brought Cibo, Pietrapertosa and the doctor, and a simple botte, in which a porter had come.  That unusual number of vehicles seemed likely to attract the attention of riflemen out for a stroll, but Cibo answered for the discretion of the innkeeper, who indeed cherished for his master the devotion of vassal to lord, still common in Italy.  The three newcomers had no need to make the slightest explanation.  Hardly had they alighted from the carriage, when the maid conducted them through the hall, where at that moment two huntsmen were breakfasting, their guns between their knees, and who, like true Romans, scarcely deigned to glance at the strangers, who passed from the common hall into a small court, from that court, through a shed, into a large field enclosed by boards, with here and there a few pine-trees.

That rather odd duelling-ground had formerly served Cibo as a paddock.  He had essayed to increase his slender income by buying at a bargain some jaded horses, which he intended fattening by means of rest and good fodder, and then selling to cabmen, averaging a small profit.  The speculation having miscarried, the place was neglected and unused, save under circumstances similar to those of this particular morning.

“We have arrived last,” said Montfanon, looking at his watch; “we are, however, five minutes ahead of time.  Remember,” he added in a low voice, turning to Florent, “to keep the body well in the background,” these words being followed by other directions.

“Thanks,” replied Florent, who looked at the Marquis and Dorsenne with a glance which he ordinarily had only for Lincoln, “and you know that, whatever may come, I thank you for all from the depths of my heart.”