At the same time that the steamer disappeared behind CapeMorgion, a man travelling post on the road from Florence toRome had just passed the little town of Aquapendente. He wastravelling fast enough to cover a great deal of groundwithout exciting suspicion. This man was dressed in agreatcoat, or rather a surtout, a little worse for thejourney, but which exhibited the ribbon of the Legion ofHonor still fresh and brilliant, a decoration which alsoornamented the under coat. He might be recognized, not onlyby these signs, but also from the accent with which he spoketo the postilion, as a Frenchman. Another proof that he wasa native of the universal country was apparent in the factof his knowing no other Italian words than the terms used inmusic, and which like the "goddam" of Figaro, served allpossible linguistic requirements. "Allegro!" he called outto the postilions at every ascent. "Moderato!" he cried asthey descended. And heaven knows there are hills enoughbetween Rome and Florence by the way of Aquapendente! Thesetwo words greatly amused the men to whom they wereaddressed. On reaching La Storta, the point from whence Romeis first visible, the traveller evinced none of theenthusiastic curiosity which usually leads strangers tostand up and endeavor to catch sight of the dome of St.Peter's, which may be seen long before any other object isdistinguishable. No, he merely drew a pocketbook from hispocket, and took from it a paper folded in four, and afterhaving examined it in a manner almost reverential, he said- "Good! I have it still!"

The carriage entered by the Porto del Popolo, turned to theleft, and stopped at the Hotel d'Espagne. Old Pastrini, ourformer acquaintance, received the traveller at the door, hatin hand. The traveller alighted, ordered a good dinner, andinquired the address of the house of Thomson & French, whichwas immediately given to him, as it was one of the mostcelebrated in Rome. It was situated in the Via dei Banchi,near St. Peter's. In Rome, as everywhere else, the arrivalof a post-chaise is an event. Ten young descendants ofMarius and the Gracchi, barefooted and out at elbows, withone hand resting on the hip and the other gracefully curvedabove the head, stared at the traveller, the post-chaise,and the horses; to these were added about fifty littlevagabonds from the Papal States, who earned a pittance bydiving into the Tiber at high water from the bridge of St.Angelo. Now, as these street Arabs of Rome, more fortunatethan those of Paris, understand every language, moreespecially the French, they heard the traveller order anapartment, a dinner, and finally inquire the way to thehouse of Thomson & French. The result was that when thenew-comer left the hotel with the cicerone, a man detachedhimself from the rest of the idlers, and without having beenseen by the traveller, and appearing to excite no attentionfrom the guide, followed the stranger with as much skill asa Parisian police agent would have used.

The Frenchman had been so impatient to reach the house ofThomson & French that he would not wait for the horses to beharnessed, but left word for the carriage to overtake him onthe road, or to wait for him at the bankers' door. Hereached it before the carriage arrived. The Frenchmanentered, leaving in the anteroom his guide, who immediatelyentered into conversation with two or three of theindustrious idlers who are always to be found in Rome at thedoors of banking-houses, churches, museums, or theatres.With the Frenchman, the man who had followed him enteredtoo; the Frenchman knocked at the inner door, and enteredthe first room; his shadow did the same.

"Messrs. Thomson & French?" inquired the stranger.

An attendant arose at a sign from a confidential clerk atthe first desk. "Whom shall I announce?" said the attendant.

"Baron Danglars."

"Follow me," said the man. A door opened, through which theattendant and the baron disappeared. The man who hadfollowed Danglars sat down on a bench. The clerk continuedto write for the next five minutes; the man preservedprofound silence, and remained perfectly motionless. Thenthe pen of the clerk ceased to move over the paper; heraised his head, and appearing to be perfectly sure ofprivacy, - "Ah, ha," he said, "here you are, Peppino!"

"Yes," was the laconic reply. "You have found out that thereis something worth having about this large gentleman?"

"There is no great merit due to me, for we were informed ofit."

"You know his business here, then."

"Pardieu, he has come to draw, but I don't know how much!"

"You will know presently, my friend."

"Very well, only do not give me false information as you didthe other day."

"What do you mean? - of whom do you speak? Was it theEnglishman who carried off 3,000 crowns from here the otherday?"

"No; he really had 3,000 crowns, and we found them. I meanthe Russian prince, who you said had 30,000 livres, and weonly found 22,000."

"You must have searched badly."

"Luigi Vampa himself searched."

"Indeed? But you must let me make my observations, or theFrenchman will transact his business without my knowing thesum." Peppino nodded, and taking a rosary from his pocketbegan to mutter a few prayers while the clerk disappearedthrough the same door by which Danglars and the attendanthad gone out. At the expiration of ten minutes the clerkreturned with a beaming countenance. "Well?" asked Peppinoof his friend.

"Joy, joy - the sum is large!"

"Five or six millions, is it not?"

"Yes, you know the amount."

"On the receipt of the Count of Monte Cristo?"

"Why, how came you to be so well acquainted with all this?"

"I told you we were informed beforehand."

"Then why do you apply to me?"

"That I may be sure I have the right man."

"Yes, it is indeed he. Five millions - a pretty sum, eh,Peppino?"

"Hush - here is our man!" The clerk seized his pen, andPeppino his beads; one was writing and the other prayingwhen the door opened. Danglars looked radiant with joy; thebanker accompanied him to the door. Peppino followedDanglars.

According to the arrangements, the carriage was waiting atthe door. The guide held the door open. Guides are usefulpeople, who will turn their hands to anything. Danglarsleaped into the carriage like a young man of twenty. Thecicerone reclosed the door, and sprang up by the side of thecoachman. Peppino mounted the seat behind.

"Will your excellency visit St. Peter's?" asked thecicerone.

"I did not come to Rome to see," said Danglars aloud; thenhe added softly, with an avaricious smile, "I came totouch!" and he rapped his pocket-book, in which he had justplaced a letter.

"Then your excellency is going" -

"To the hotel."

"Casa Pastrini!" said the cicerone to the coachman, and thecarriage drove rapidly on. Ten minutes afterwards the baronentered his apartment, and Peppino stationed himself on thebench outside the door of the hotel, after having whisperedsomething in the ear of one of the descendants of Marius andthe Gracchi whom we noticed at the beginning of the chapter,who immediately ran down the road leading to the Capitol athis fullest speed. Danglars was tired and sleepy; hetherefore went to bed, placing his pocketbook under hispillow. Peppino had a little spare time, so he had a game ofmora with the facchini, lost three crowns, and then toconsole himself drank a bottle of Orvieto.

The next morning Danglars awoke late, though he went to bedso early; he had not slept well for five or six nights, evenif he had slept at all. He breakfasted heartily, and caringlittle, as he said, for the beauties of the Eternal City,ordered post-horses at noon. But Danglars had not reckonedupon the formalities of the police and the idleness of theposting-master. The horses only arrived at two o'clock, andthe cicerone did not bring the passport till three. Allthese preparations had collected a number of idlers roundthe door of Signor Pastrini's; the descendants of Marius andthe Gracchi were also not wanting. The baron walkedtriumphantly through the crowd, who for the sake of gainstyled him "your excellency." As Danglars had hithertocontented himself with being called a baron, he felt ratherflattered at the title of excellency, and distributed adozen silver coins among the beggars, who were ready, fortwelve more, to call him "your highness."

"Which road?" asked the postilion in Italian. "The Anconaroad," replied the baron. Signor Pastrini interpreted thequestion and answer, and the horses galloped off. Danglarsintended travelling to Venice, where he would receive onepart of his fortune, and then proceeding to Vienna, where hewould find the rest, he meant to take up his residence inthe latter town, which he had been told was a city ofpleasure.

He had scarcely advanced three leagues out of Rome whendaylight began to disappear. Danglars had not intendedstarting so late, or he would have remained; he put his headout and asked the postilion how long it would be before theyreached the next town. "Non capisco" (do not understand),was the reply. Danglars bent his head, which he meant toimply, "Very well." The carriage again moved on. "I willstop at the first posting-house," said Danglars to himself.

He still felt the same self-satisfaction which he hadexperienced the previous evening, and which had procured himso good a night's rest. He was luxuriously stretched in agood English calash, with double springs; he was drawn byfour good horses, at full gallop; he knew the relay to be ata distance of seven leagues. What subject of meditationcould present itself to the banker, so fortunately becomebankrupt?

Danglars thought for ten minutes about his wife in Paris;another ten minutes about his daughter travelling withMademoiselle d'Armilly; the same period was given to hiscreditors, and the manner in which he intended spendingtheir money; and then, having no subject left forcontemplation, he shut his eyes, and fell asleep. Now andthen a jolt more violent than the rest caused him to openhis eyes; then he felt that he was still being carried withgreat rapidity over the same country, thickly strewn withbroken aqueducts, which looked like granite giants petrifiedwhile running a race. But the night was cold, dull, andrainy, and it was much more pleasant for a traveller toremain in the warm carriage than to put his head out of thewindow to make inquiries of a postilion whose only answerwas "Non capisco."

Danglars therefore continued to sleep, saying to himselfthat he would be sure to awake at the posting-house. Thecarriage stopped. Danglars fancied that they had reached thelong-desired point; he opened his eyes and looked throughthe window, expecting to find himself in the midst of sometown, or at least village; but he saw nothing except whatseemed like a ruin, where three or four men went and camelike shadows. Danglars waited a moment, expecting thepostilion to come and demand payment with the termination ofhis stage. He intended taking advantage of the opportunityto make fresh inquiries of the new conductor; but the horseswere unharnessed, and others put in their places, withoutany one claiming money from the traveller. Danglars,astonished, opened the door; but a strong hand pushed himback, and the carriage rolled on. The baron was completelyroused. "Eh?" he said to the postilion, "eh, mio caro?"

This was another little piece of Italian the baron hadlearned from hearing his daughter sing Italian duets withCavalcanti. But mio caro did not reply. Danglars then openedthe window.

"Come, my friend," he said, thrusting his hand through theopening, "where are we going?"

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

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

Danglars turned to the left; another man on horseback wasgalloping on that side. "Decidedly," said Danglars, with theperspiration on his forehead, "I must be under arrest." Andhe threw himself back in the calash, not this time to sleep,but to think. Directly afterwards the moon rose. He then sawthe great aqueducts, those stone phantoms which he hadbefore remarked, only then they were on the right hand, nowthey were on the left. He understood that they had describeda 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. Anhour of terror elapsed, for every spot they passed showedthat they were on the road back. At length he saw a darkmass, against which it seemed as if the carriage was aboutto dash; but the vehicle turned to one side, leaving thebarrier behind and Danglars saw that it was one of theramparts encircling Rome.

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

His hair stood on end. He remembered those interestingstories, so little believed in Paris, respecting Romanbandits; he remembered the adventures that Albert de Morcerfhad related when it was intended that he should marryMademoiselle Eugenie. "They are robbers, perhaps," hemuttered. Just then the carriage rolled on something harderthan gravel road. Danglars hazarded a look on both sides ofthe road, and perceived monuments of a singular form, andhis mind now recalled all the details Morcerf had related,and comparing them with his own situation, he felt sure thathe must be on the Appian Way. On the left, in a sort ofvalley, he perceived a circular excavation. It wasCaracalla's circus. On a word from the man who rode at theside of the carriage, it stopped. At the same time the doorwas opened. "Scendi!" exclaimed a commanding voice. Danglarsinstantly descended; although he did not yet speak Italian,he understood it very well. More dead than alive, he lookedaround him. Four men surrounded him, besides the postilion.

"Di qua," said one of the men, descending a little pathleading out of the Appian Way. Danglars followed his guidewithout opposition, and had no occasion to turn around tosee whether the three others were following him. Still itappeared as though they were stationed at equal distancesfrom one another, like sentinels. After walking for aboutten minutes, during which Danglars did not exchange a singleword with his guide, he found himself between a hillock anda clump of high weeds; three men, standing silent, formed atriangle, of which he was the centre. He wished to speak,but his tongue refused to move. "Avanti!" said the samesharp and imperative voice.

This time Danglars had double reason to understand, for ifthe word and gesture had not explained the speaker'smeaning, it was clearly expressed by the man walking behindhim, who pushed him so rudely that he struck against theguide. This guide was our friend Peppino, who dashed intothe thicket of high weeds, through a path which none butlizards or polecats could have imagined to be an open road.Peppino stopped before a pit overhung by thick hedges; thepit, half open, afforded a passage to the young man, whodisappeared like the evil spirits in the fairy tales. Thevoice and gesture of the man who followed Danglars orderedhim to do the same. There was no longer any doubt, thebankrupt was in the hands of Roman banditti. Danglarsacquitted himself like a man placed between two dangerouspositions, and who is rendered brave by fear.Notwithstanding his large stomach, certainly not intended topenetrate the fissures of the Campagna, he slid down likePeppino, and closing his eyes fell upon his feet. As hetouched the ground, he opened his eyes. The path was wide,but dark. Peppino, who cared little for being recognized nowthat he was in his own territories, struck a light and lit atorch. Two other men descended after Danglars forming therearguard, and pushing Danglars whenever he happened tostop, they came by a gentle declivity to the intersection oftwo corridors. The walls were hollowed out in sepulchres,one above the other, and which seemed in contrast with thewhite stones to open their large dark eyes, like those whichwe see on the faces of the dead. A sentinel struck the ringsof his carbine against his left hand. "Who comes there?" hecried.

"A friend, a friend!" said Peppino; "but where is thecaptain?"

"There," said the sentinel, pointing over his shoulder to aspacious crypt, hollowed out of the rock, the lights fromwhich shone into the passage through the large archedopenings. "Fine spoil, captain, fine spoil!" said Peppino inItalian, and taking Danglars by the collar of his coat hedragged him to an opening resembling a door, through whichthey entered the apartment which the captain appeared tohave made his dwelling-place.

"Is this the man?" asked the captain, who was attentivelyreading Plutarch's "Life of Alexander."

"Himself, captain - himself."

"Very well, show him to me." At this rather impertinentorder, Peppino raised his torch to the face of Danglars, whohastily withdrew that he might not have his eyelashes burnt.His agitated features presented the appearance of pale andhideous terror. "The man is tired," said the captain,"conduct him to his bed."

"Oh," murmured Danglars," that bed is probably one of thecoffins hollowed in the wall, and the sleep I shall enjoywill be death from one of the poniards I see glistening inthe darkness."

From their beds of dried leaves or wolf-skins at the back ofthe chamber now arose the companions of the man who had beenfound by Albert de Morcerf reading "Caesar's Commentaries,"and by Danglars studying the "Life of Alexander." The bankeruttered a groan and followed his guide; he neithersupplicated nor exclaimed. He no longer possessed strength,will, power, or feeling; he followed where they led him. Atlength he found himself at the foot of a staircase, and hemechanically lifted his foot five or six times. Then a lowdoor was opened before him, and bending his head to avoidstriking his forehead he entered a small room cut out of therock. The cell was clean, though empty, and dry, thoughsituated at an immeasurable distance under the earth. A bedof dried grass covered with goat-skins was placed in onecorner. Danglars brightened up on beholding it, fancyingthat it gave some promise of safety. "Oh, God be praised,"he said; "it is a real bed!"

"Ecco!" said the guide, and pushing Danglars into the cell,he closed the door upon him. A bolt grated and Danglars wasa prisoner. If there had been no bolt, it would have beenimpossible for him to pass through the midst of the garrisonwho held the catacombs of St. Sebastian, encamped round amaster whom our readers must have recognized as the famousLuigi Vampa. Danglars, too, had recognized the bandit, whoseexistence he would not believe when Albert de Morcerfmentioned him in Paris; and not only did he recognize him,but the cell in which Albert had been confined, and whichwas probably kept for the accommodation of strangers. Theserecollections were dwelt upon with some pleasure byDanglars, and restored him to some degree of tranquillity.Since the bandits had not despatched him at once, he feltthat they would not kill him at all. They had arrested himfor the purpose of robbery, and as he had only a few louisabout him, he doubted not he would be ransomed. Heremembered that Morcerf had been taxed at 4,000 crowns, andas he considered himself of much greater importance thanMorcerf he fixed his own price at 8,000 crowns. Eightthousand crowns amounted to 48,000 livres; he would thenhave about 5,050,000 francs left. With this sum he couldmanage to keep out of difficulties. Therefore, tolerablysecure in being able to extricate himself from his position,provided he were not rated at the unreasonable sum of5,050,000 francs, he stretched himself on his bed, and afterturning over two or three times, fell asleep with thetranquillity of the hero whose life Luigi Vampa wasstudying.