" he said, thrusting his hand through the opening,
"where are we going?"

"Dentro la testa!" answered a solemn and imperious voice, accompanied by
a menacing gesture. Danglars thought dentro la testa meant, "Put in your
head!" He was making rapid progress in Italian. He obeyed, not without
some uneasiness, which, momentarily increasing, caused his mind, instead
of being as unoccupied as it was when he began his journey, to fill with
ideas which were very likely to keep a traveller awake, more especially
one in such a situation as Danglars. His eyes acquired that quality
which in the first moment of strong emotion enables them to see
distinctly, and which afterwards fails from being too much taxed. Before
we are alarmed, we see correctly; when we are alarmed, we see double;
and when we have been alarmed, we see nothing but trouble. Danglars
observed a man in a cloak galloping at the right hand of the carriage.

"Some gendarme!" he exclaimed. "Can I have been intercepted by French
telegrams to the pontifical authorities?" He resolved to end his
anxiety. "Where are you taking me?" he asked. "Dentro la testa," replied
the same voice, with the same menacing accent.

Danglars turned to the left; another man on horseback was galloping
on that side. "Decidedly," said Danglars, with the perspiration on his
forehead, "I must be under arrest." And he threw himself back in the
calash, not this time to sleep, but to think. Directly afterwards the
moon rose. He then saw the great aqueducts, those stone phantoms which
he had before remarked, only then they were on the right hand, now they
were on the left. He understood that they had described a circle, and
were bringing him back to Rome. "Oh, unfortunate!" he cried, "they
must have obtained my arrest." The carriage continued to roll on with
frightful speed. An hour of terror elapsed, for every spot they passed
showed that they were on the road back. At length he saw a dark mass,
against which it seemed as if the carriage was about to dash; but the
vehicle turned to one side, leaving the barrier behind and Danglars saw
that it was one of the ramparts encircling Rome.

"Mon dieu!" cried Danglars, "we are not returning to Rome; then it
is not justice which is pursuing me! Gracious heavens; another idea
presents itself--what if they should be"--

His hair stood on end. He remembered those interesting stories, so
little believed in Paris, respecting Roman bandits; he remembered the
a