CHAPTER XXXIV. THE FATE OF KEANE--HIS DEPOSITION.

The laughing Seine, whose midnight flood
Shrouds many a deed of crime and blood!

Warren.

They alone who have passed much of their lives on the Continent of
Europe can estimate the amount of excitement caused by such an incident
as that we have just related. So much of life is centred in the theatre,
so many interests revolve around it, engrossing, as it does, so much of
the passions and the prejudices of those whose existence seldom rises
above the pursuit of pleasure, that anything which might interrupt "the
scene," which should disturb its progress, or mar its effect, is sure
to evoke the loudest evidence of public indignation. Where a high
cultivation of the arts is employed to gloss over the corruptions of a
vicious system, it may be easily conceived how men would be judged more
leniently for crimes than for those minor offences which rebel against
the usages of good society.

The "Ballet interrupted in its most interesting moment," "La Ninetta
carried away fainting at the very commencement of her most attractive
movement," insulted--so it was rumored--"by some offensive epithet of a
Spaniard," were enough to carry indignation to the highest pitch, and
it needed the protection of the guard to screen him from the popular
vengeance.

After a night of feverish anxiety, where hopes and fears warred and
conflicted with each other, Cashel was early on the following morning
conducted before the chief commissary of the police. His passport
represented him as a Spaniard, and he adhered to the pretended
nationality to avoid the dreaded notoriety of his name.

While he answered the usual questions as to age, religion, and
profession, an officer deposited a sealed paper in the hands of the
prefetto; who, opening it, appeared to study the contents with much
care.

"You have called yourself Il Senor Roland da Castel, sir?" said the
official, staring fixedly upon him. "Have you always gone by this name?"

"In Mexico and the New World I was ever known as such. In England men
called me Roland Cashel."

"Which is your more fitting appellation--is it not?"

"Yes."

"You are then an English, and not a Spanish subject?"

He nodded assent.

"You were, however, in a South American service?" said the prefetto,
reading from his paper.

Roland bowed again.

"In which service, or pretended service, you commanded a slaver?"

"This is untrue," said Cash