he insignificant scratch on his shoulder, was not wounded
at all, exercised his surgical skill in binding up the wounds of the
rest--Salvator, Agli, and his young comrades--for they had none of them
got off without being wounded, though none of them in the least degree
dangerously.

The adventure, notwithstanding its wildness and audacity, would
undoubtedly have been successful, had not Salvator and Antonio
overlooked one person, who upset everything. The _ci-devant_ bravo and
gendarme Michele, who dwelt below in Capuzzi's house, and was in a
certain sort his general servant, had, in accordance with Capuzzi's
directions, followed them to the theatre, but at some distance off, for
the old gentleman was ashamed of the tattered reprobate. In the same
way Michele was following them homewards. And when the spectres
appeared, Michele who, be it remarked, feared neither death nor devil,
suspecting that something was wrong, hurried back as fast as he could
run in the darkness to the Porta del Popolo, raised an alarm, and
returned with all the gendarmes he could find, just at the moment when,
as we know, the devils fell upon Signor Pasquale, and were about to
carry him off as the dead men had the Pyramid Doctor.

In the very hottest moment of the fight, one of the young painters
observed distinctly how one of the fellows, taking Marianna in his arms
(for she had fainted), made off to the gate, whilst Signor Pasquale ran
after him with incredible swiftness, as if he had got quicksilver in
his legs. At the same time, by the light of the torches, he caught a
glimpse of something gleaming, clinging to his mantle and whimpering;
no doubt it was Pitichinaccio.

Next morning Doctor Splendiano was found near the Pyramid of Cestius,
fast asleep, doubled up like a ball and squeezed into his wig, as if
into a warm soft nest. When he was awakened, he rambled in his talk,
and there was some difficulty in convincing him that he was still on
the surface of the earth, and in Rome to boot. And when at length he
reached his own house, he returned thanks to the Virgin and all the
saints for his rescue, threw all his tinctures, essences, electuaries,
and powders out of the window, burnt his prescriptions, and vowed to
heal his patients in the future by no other means than by anointing and
laying on of hands, as some celebrated physician of former ages, who
was at the same time a saint (his name I cannot recall just at this
moment), had with grea