CHAPTER CXV
PEPPINO
T same time that the steamer disappeared behind Cape Morgiou, a man, traveling post on the road from Florence to Rome, had just passed the little town of Aquapendente. He was traveling fast enough to make a great deal of ground without becoming altogether suspicious. This man, dressed in a great-coat, or rather a surtout, a good deal the worse for the journey, but which exhibited the ribbon of the Légion d'Honneur still fresh and brilliant, a decoration which also ornamented the under-coat, might be recognized, not only by these signs, but also from the accent with which he spoke to the postilion, to be a Frenchman.
Another proof that he was a native of the country of the universal language was apparent in the fact of his knowing no other Italian words than the terms used in music, which, like the "Goddam" of Figaro, supplied all deficiences. "Allegro!" he called out to the postilions at every ascent. "Moderato!" he cried as they descended. And any one who has ever traveled that road 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. In sight of the Eternal City, that is, on reaching La Stora, the point from whence Rome is first visible, the traveler evinced none of the enthusiastic curiosity which usually leads strangers to stand up and endeavor to catch sight of the dome of Saint Peter's, which may be seen long before any other object is distinguishable. No, he merely drew a pocket-book 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 Hôtel d'Espagne. Maître Pastrini, our old acquaintance, received the traveler at the door, hat in hand. The traveler alighted,
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