"Casa Pastrini!" said the cicerone to the coachman, and the carriage
drove rapidly on. Ten minutes afterwards the baron entered his
apartment, and Peppino stationed himself on the bench outside the door
of the hotel, after having whispered something in the ear of one of the
descendants of Marius and the Gracchi whom we noticed at the beginning
of the chapter, who immediately ran down the road leading to the Capitol
at his fullest speed. Danglars was tired and sleepy; he therefore went
to bed, placing his pocketbook under his pillow. Peppino had a little
spare time, so he had a game of mora with the facchini, lost three
crowns, and then to console himself drank a bottle of Orvieto.

The next morning Danglars awoke late, though he went to bed so early; he
had not slept well for five or six nights, even if he had slept at all.
He breakfasted heartily, and caring little, as he said, for the beauties
of the Eternal City, ordered post-horses at noon. But Danglars had not
reckoned upon the formalities of the police and the idleness of the
posting-master. The horses only arrived at two o'clock, and the cicerone
did not bring the passport till three. All these preparations had
collected a number of idlers round the door of Signor Pastrini's; the
descendants of Marius and the Gracchi were also not wanting. The baron
walked triumphantly through the crowd, who for the sake of gain styled
him "your excellency." As Danglars had hitherto contented himself
with being called a baron, he felt rather flattered at the title of
excellency, and distributed a dozen silver coins among the beggars, who
were ready, for twelve more, to call him "your highness."

"Which road?" asked the postilion in Italian. "The Ancona road," replied
the baron. Signor Pastrini interpreted the question and answer, and the
horses galloped off. Danglars intended travelling to Venice, where he
would receive one part of his fortune, and then proceeding to Vienna,
where he would find the rest, he meant to take up his residence in the
latter town, which he had been told was a city of pleasure.

He had scarcely advanced three leagues out of Rome when daylight began
to disappear. Danglars had not intended starting so late, or he would
have remained; he put his head out and asked the postilion how long
it would be before they reached the next town. "Non capisco" (do not
understand), was the reply. Danglars bent his head, which he meant to
imply, "Very well." The carria