"Yes; I have business in Italy. I leave you alone with your misfortunes,
and with hope, Maximilian."

"When do you leave?"

"Immediately; the steamer waits, and in an hour I shall be far from you.
Will you accompany me to the harbor, Maximilian?"

"I am entirely yours, count." Morrel accompanied the count to the
harbor. The white steam was ascending like a plume of feathers from the
black chimney. The steamer soon disappeared, and in an hour afterwards,
as the count had said, was scarcely distinguishable in the horizon
amidst the fogs of the night.

Chapter 114. Peppino.

At the same time that the steamer disappeared behind Cape Morgion, a man
travelling post on the road from Florence to Rome had just passed the
little town of Aquapendente. He was travelling fast enough to cover a
great deal of ground without exciting suspicion. This man was dressed
in a greatcoat, or rather a surtout, a little worse for the journey,
but which exhibited the ribbon of the Legion of Honor still fresh and
brilliant, a decoration which also ornamented the under coat. He might
be recognized, not only by these signs, but also from the accent with
which he spoke to the postilion, as a Frenchman. Another proof that he
was a native of the universal country was apparent in the fact of his
knowing no other Italian words than the terms used in music, and
which like the "goddam" of Figaro, served all possible linguistic
requirements. "Allegro!" he called out to the postilions at every
ascent. "Moderato!" he cried as they descended. And heaven knows there
are hills enough between Rome and Florence by the way of Aquapendente!
These two words greatly amused the men to whom they were addressed. On
reaching La Storta, the point from whence Rome is first visible, the
traveller evinced none of the enthusiastic curiosity which usually leads
strangers to stand up and endeavor to catch sight of the dome of
St. Peter's, which may be seen long before any other object is
distinguishable. No, he merely drew a pocketbook from his pocket, and
took from it a paper folded in four, and after having examined it in a
manner almost reverential, he said--"Good! I have it still!"

The carriage entered by the Porto del Popolo, turned to the left, and
stopped at the Hotel d'Espagne. Old Pastrini, our former acquaintance,
received the traveller at the door, hat in hand. The traveller alighted,
ordered a good dinner, and inquired the address of the house of Thomso