THOUGH the greatest concourse was not from the quarter by which our three fugitives approached the valley, but rather at the opposite entrance; yet in this second half of their journey, they began to meet with fellow-travellers, companions in misfortune, who, from cross-roads or by-paths, had issued, or were issuing, into the main road. In circumstances like these all who happen to meet each other are acquaintances. Every time that the cart overtook a pedestrian traveller, there was an exchanging of questions and replies. Some had made their escape, like our friends, without awaiting the arrival of the soldiers; some had heard the clanging of arms and kettle-drums; while others had actually beheld them, and painted them as the terror-stricken usually paint the objects of their terror.

‘We are fortunate, however,’ said the two women: ‘let us thank Heaven for it. Our goods must go; but, at least, we are out of the way.’

But Don Abbondio could not find so much to rejoice at; even this concourse, and still more the far greater one which he heard was pouring in from the opposite direction, began to throw a gloom over his mind. ‘Oh, what a state of things!’ muttered he to the women, at a moment when there was nobody at hand: ‘oh, what a state of things! Don’t you see, that to collect so many people into one place is just the same thing as to draw all the soldiers here by force? Everybody is hiding, everybody carries off his things! nothing’s left in the houses: so they’ll think there must be some treasures up here. They’ll surely come! Oh poor me! What have I embarked in?’

‘What should they have to come here for?’ said Perpetua: ‘they are obliged to go straight on their way. And besides, I’ve always heard say, that it’s better to be a large party when there’s any danger.’

‘A large party? a large party?’ replied Don Abbondio. ‘Foolish woman! Don’t you know that a single German soldier could devour a hundred of such as they? And then, if they should take into their heads to play any pranks, it would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it, to find ourselves in the midst of a battle? Oh poor me! It would have been less dangerous to have gone to the mountains. Why should everybody choose to go to one place? . . . Tiresome folks!’ muttered he in a still lower voice. ‘All here: still coming, coming, coming; one after the other, like sheep that have no sense.’

‘In this way,’ said Agnese, ‘they might say the same of us.’

‘Hush, hush!’ said Don Abbondio, ‘all this talk does no good. What’s done is done: we are here, and now we must stay here. It will be as Providence wills: Heaven send it may be good!’

But his horror was greatly increased when, at the entrance of the valley, he saw a large body of armed men, some at the door of a house, and others quartered in the lower rooms. He cast a side glance at them: they were not the same faces which it had been his lot to see on his former melancholy entrance, or if there were any of the same, they were strangely altered; but, with all this, it is impossible to say what uneasiness this sight gave him. — Oh poor me! — thought he. — See, now, if they won’t play pranks! It isn’t likely it could be otherwise; I ought to have expected if from a man of this kind. But what will he want to do? Will he make war? will he play the king, eh? Of poor me! In circumstances when one would wish to bury oneself under-ground, and this man seeks every way of making himself known, and attracting attention; it seems as he wished to invite them! —

‘You see now, Signor master,’ said Perpetua, addressing him, ‘there are brave people here who will know how to defend us. Let the soldiers come now: these people are not like our clowns, who are good for nothing but to drag their legs after them.’

‘Hold your tongue,’ said Don Abbondio, in a low and angry tone, ‘hold your tongue; you don’t know what you are talking about. Pray Heaven that the soldiers may make haste, or that they may never come to know what is doing here, and that the place is being fortified like a fortress. Don’t you know it’s the soldiers’ business to take fortresses? They wish nothing better; to take a place by storm is to them like going to a wedding; because all they find they take to themselves, and the inhabitants they put to the edge of the sword. Oh poor me! Well, I’ll surely see if there’s no way of putting oneself in safety on some of these peaks. They won’t reach me there in a battle! oh, they won’t reach me there!’

‘If you’re afraid, too, of being defended and helped . . . ’ Perpetua was again beginning; but Don Abbondio sharply interrupted her, though still in a suppressed tone: ‘Hold your tongue; and take good care you don’t report what we’ve said: woe unto us if you do! Remember that we must always put on a pleasant countenance here, and approve all we see.’

At Malanotte they found another watch of armed men, to whom Don Abbondio submissively took off his hat, saying, in the meanwhile, in his heart — Alas! alas! I’ve certainly come to an encampment! — Here the cart stopped; they dismounted; Don Abbondio hastily paid and dismissed the driver; and with his two companions silently mounted the steep. The sight of those places recalled to his imagination and mingled with his present troubles the remembrance of those which he had suffered here once before. And Agnese, who had never seen these scenes, and who had drawn to herself an imaginary picture, which presented itself to her mind whenever she thought of the circumstances that had occurred here, on seeing them now as they were in reality, experienced a new and more vivid feeling of these mournful recollections. ‘Oh, Signor Curate!’ exclaimed she, ‘to think that my poor Lucia has passed along this road! . . . ’

‘Will you hold your tongue, you absurd woman?’ cried Don Abbondio in her ear. ‘Are those things to be bringing up here? Don’t you know we are in his place? It was well for us nobody heard you then; but if you talk in this way . . . ’

‘Oh! said Agnese; ‘now that he’s a saint! . . . ’

‘Well, be quiet!’ replied Don Abbondio again in her ear. ‘Do you think one may say without caution, even to saints, all that passes through one’s mind? Think rather of thanking him for his goodness to you.’

‘Oh, I’ve already thought of that: do you think I don’t know even a little civility?’

‘Civility is, not to say things that may be disagreeable to a person, particularly to one who is not accustomed to hear them. And under-stand well, both of you, that this is not a place to go chattering about, and saying whatever may happen to come into your heads. It is a great Signor’s house, you know that already: see what a household there is all around: people of all sorts come here: so be prudent, if you can; weigh your words; and above all, let there be few of them, and only when there is a necessity: one can’t get wrong when one is silent.’

‘You do far worse, with your . . . ‘Perpetua began: but, ‘Hush!’ cried Don Abbondio, in a suppressed voice, at the same time hastily taking off his hat, and making a profound bow: for, on looking up, he had discovered the Unnamed coming down to meet them. He, on his part, had noticed and recognized Don Abbondio, and was now hastening to welcome him.

‘Signor Curate,’ said he, when he had reached him, ‘I should have liked to offer you my house on a pleasanter occasion; but, under any circumstances, I am exceedingly glad to be able to be of some service to you.’

‘Trusting in your illustrious Lordship’s great kindness,’ replied Don Abbondio, ‘I have ventured to come, under these melancholy circumstances, to intrude upon you: and, as your illustrious Lordship sees, I have also presumed to bring company with me. This is my housekeeper . . . ’

‘She is welcome,’ said the Unnamed.

‘And this,’ continued Don Abbondio, ‘is a woman to whom your Lordship has already been very good: the mother of that . . . of that . . . ’

‘Of Lucia,’ said Agnese.

‘Of Lucia!’ exclaimed the Unnamed, turning with a look of shame towards Agnese. ‘Been very good, I! Immortal God! You are very good to me, to come here . . . to me . . . to this house. You are most heartily welcome. You bring a blessing with you.’

‘Oh, sir,’ said Agnese, ‘I come to give you trouble. I have, too,’ continued she, going very close to his ear, ‘to thank you . . . ’

The Unnamed interrupted these words, by anxiously making inquiries about Lucia: and having heard the intelligence they had to give, he turned to accompany his new guests to the castle, and persisted in doing so, in spite of their ceremonious opposition. Agnese cast a glance at the Curate, which meant to say — You see, now, whether there’s any need for you to interpose between us with your advice! —

‘Have they reached your parish?’ asked the Unnamed, addressing Don Abbondio.

‘No, Signor; for I would not willingly await the arrival of these devils,’ replied he. ‘Heaven knows if I should have been able to escape alive out of their hands, and come to trouble your illustrious Lordship.’

‘Well, well, you may take courage,’ resumed the nobleman, ‘for you are now safe enough. They’ll not come up here; and if they should wish to make the trial, we’re ready to receive them.’

‘We’ll hope they won’t come,’ said Don Abbondio. ‘I hear,’ added he, pointing with his finger towards the mountains which enclosed the valley on the opposite side, ‘I hear that another band of soldiers is wandering about in that quarter too, but . . . but . . . ’

‘True,’ replied the Unnamed; ‘but you need have no fear: we are ready for them also.’— Between two fires; in the mean while said Don Abbondio to himself — exactly between two fires. Where have I suffered myself to be drawn? and by two silly women! And this man seems actually in his element in it all! Oh, what people there are in the world! —

On entering the castle, the Signor had Agnese and Perpetua conducted to an apartment in the quarter assigned to the women, which occupied three of the four sides of the inner court, in the back part of the building, and was situated on a jutting and isolated rock, overhanging a precipice. The men were lodged in the sides of the other court to the right and left, and in that which looked on the esplanade. The central block, which separated the two quadrangles, and afforded a passage from one to the other through a wide archway opposite the principal gate, was partly occupied with provisions, and partly served as a depository for any little property the refugees might wish to secure in this retreat. In the quarters appropriated to the men, was a small apartment destined for the use of any clergy who might happen to take refuge three. Hither the Unnamed himself conducted Don Abbondio, who was the first to take possession of it.

Three or four and twenty days our fugitives remained at the cas-tle, in a state of continual bustle, forming a large company, which at first received constant additions, but without any incidents of importance. Perhaps, however, not a single day passed without their resorting to arms. Lansquenets were coming in this direction; cappelletti had been seen in that. Every time this intelligence was brought, the Unnamed sent men to reconnoitre; and, if there were any necessity, took with him some whom he kept in readiness for the purpose, and accompanied them beyond the valley, in the direction of the indicated danger. And it was a singular thing to behold a band of brigands, armed cap-à-pié, and conducted like soldiers by one who was himself unarmed. Generally it proved to be only foragers and disbanded pillagers, who contrived to make off before they were taken by surprise. But once, when driving away some of these, to teach them not to come again into that neighbourhood, the Unnamed received intelligence that an adjoining village was invaded and given up to plunder. They were soldiers of various corps, who, having loitered behind to hunt for booty, had formed themselves into a band, and made a sudden irruption into the lands surrounding that where the army had taken up its quarters; despoiling the inhabitants, and even levying contributions from them. The Unnamed made a brief harangue to his followers, and bid them march forward to the invaded village.

They arrived unexpectedly: the plunderers, who had thought of nothing but taking the spoil, abandoned their prey in the midst, on seeing men in arms, and ready for battle, coming down upon them, and hastily took to flight, without waiting for one another, in the direction whence they had come. He pursued them a little distance; then, making a halt, waited awhile to see if any fresh object presented itself, and at length returned homewards. It is impossible to describe the shouts of applause and benediction which accompanied the troop of deliverers and its leader, on passing through the rescued village.

Among the multitude of refugees assembled in the castle, strangers to each other, and differing in rank, habit, sex, and age, no disturbance of any moment occurred. The Unnamed had placed guards in various posts, all of whom endeavoured to ward off any un-pleasantness with the care usually exhibited by those who are held accountable for any misdemeanours.

He had also requested the clergy, and others of most authority among those to whom he afforded shelter, to walk round the place, and keep a watch; and, as often as he could, he himself went about to show himself in every direction, while, even in his absence, the remembrance of who was in the house served as a restraint to those who needed it. Besides, they were all people that had fled from danger, and hence generally inclined to peace: while the thoughts of their homes and property, and in some cases, of relatives and friends ............