ge again moved on. "I will stop at the
first posting-house," said Danglars to himself.

He still felt the same self-satisfaction which he had experienced the
previous evening, and which had procured him so good a night's rest. He
was luxuriously stretched in a good English calash, with double springs;
he was drawn by four good horses, at full gallop; he knew the relay
to be at a distance of seven leagues. What subject of meditation could
present itself to the banker, so fortunately become bankrupt?

Danglars thought for ten minutes about his wife in Paris; another ten
minutes about his daughter travelling with Mademoiselle d'Armilly;
the same period was given to his creditors, and the manner in which
he intended spending their money; and then, having no subject left for
contemplation, he shut his eyes, and fell asleep. Now and then a jolt
more violent than the rest caused him to open his eyes; then he felt
that he was still being carried with great rapidity over the same
country, thickly strewn with broken aqueducts, which looked like granite
giants petrified while running a race. But the night was cold, dull, and
rainy, and it was much more pleasant for a traveller to remain in the
warm carriage than to put his head out of the window to make inquiries
of a postilion whose only answer was "Non capisco."

Danglars therefore continued to sleep, saying to himself that he would
be sure to awake at the posting-house. The carriage stopped. Danglars
fancied that they had reached the long-desired point; he opened his eyes
and looked through the window, expecting to find himself in the midst
of some town, or at least village; but he saw nothing except what
seemed like a ruin, where three or four men went and came like shadows.
Danglars waited a moment, expecting the postilion to come and demand
payment with the termination of his stage. He intended taking advantage
of the opportunity to make fresh inquiries of the new conductor; but the
horses were unharnessed, and others put in their places, without any
one claiming money from the traveller. Danglars, astonished, opened the
door; but a strong hand pushed him back, and the carriage rolled on. The
baron was completely roused. "Eh?" he said to the postilion, "eh, mio
caro?"

This was another little piece of Italian the baron had learned from
hearing his daughter sing Italian duets with Cavalcanti. But mio caro
did not reply. Danglars then opened the window.

"Come, my friend,