Peppino.
At the same time that the steamer disappeared behind Cape Morgion, a man travelling post on the road from Florence to Rome had just passed the little town of Aquapendente.He was travelling fast enough to cover a great deal of ground without exciting suspicion.This man was dressed in a greatcoat, or rather a surtout, a little worse for the journey, but which exhibited the ribbon of the Legion of Honor still fresh and brilliant, a decoration which also ornamented the under coat.He might be recognized, not only by these signs, but also from the accent with which he spoke to the postilion, as a Frenchman.Another proof that he was a native of the universal country was apparent in the fact of his knowing no other Italian words than the terms used in music, and which like the "goddam" of Figaro, served all possible linguistic requirements."Allegro!" he called out to the postilions at every ascent."Moderato!" he cried as they descended.And heaven 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.On reaching La Storta, the point from whence Rome is first visible, the traveller evinced none of the enthusiastic curiosity which usually leads strangers to stand up and endeavor to catch sight of the dome of St.
Peter's, which may be seen long before any other object is distinguishable.No, he merely drew a pocketbook 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 Hotel d'Espagne.Old Pastrini, our former acquaintance, received the traveller at the door, hat in hand.The traveller alighted, ordered a good dinner, and inquired the address of the house of Thomson & French, which was immediately given to him, as it was one of the most celebrated in Rome.It was situated in the Via dei Banchi, near St.Peter's.In Rome, as everywhere else, the arrival of a post-chaise is an event.Ten young descendants of Marius and the Gracchi, barefooted and out at elbows, with one hand resting on the hip and the other gracefully curved above the head, stared at the traveller, the post-chaise, and the horses; to these were added about fifty little vagabonds from the Papal States, who earned a pittance by diving into the Tiber at high water from the bridge of St.
Angelo.Now, as these street Arabs of Rome, more fortunate than those of Paris, understand every language, more especially the French, they heard the traveller order an apartment, a dinner, and finally inquire the way to the house of Thomson & French.The result was that when the new-comer left the hotel with the cicerone, a man detached himself from the rest of the idlers, and without having been seen by the traveller, and appearing to excite no attention from the guide, followed the stranger with as much skill as a Parisian police agent would have used.
The Frenchman had been so impatient to reach the house of Thomson & French that he would not wait for the horses to be harnessed, but left word for the carriage to overtake him on the road, or to wait for him at the bankers' door.He reached it before the carriage arrived.The Frenchman entered, leaving in the anteroom his guide, who immediately entered into conversation with two or three of the industrious idlers who are always to be found in Rome at the doors of banking-houses, churches, museums, or theatres.
With the Frenchman, the man who had followed him entered too; the Frenchman knocked at the inner door, and entered the first room; his shadow did the same.
"Messrs.Thomson & French?" inquired the stranger.
An attendant arose at a sign from a confidential clerk at the first desk."Whom shall I announce?" said the attendant.
"Baron Danglars."
"Follow me," said the man.A door opened, through which the attendant and the baron disappeared.The man who had followed Danglars sat down on a bench.The clerk continued to write for the next five minutes; the man preserved profound silence, and remained perfectly motionless.Then the pen of the clerk ceased to move over the paper; he raised his head, and appearing to be perfectly sure of privacy, -- "Ah, ha," he said, "here you are, Peppino!""Yes," was the laconic reply."You have found out that there is something worth having about this large gentleman?""There is no great merit due to me, for we were informed of it.""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 did the other day.""What do you mean? -- of whom do you speak? Was it the Englishman who carried off 3,000 crowns from here the other day?""No; he really had 3,000 crowns, and we found them.I mean the Russian prince, who you said had 30,000 livres, and we only found 22,000.""You must have searched badly."
"Luigi Vampa himself searched."
"Indeed? But you must let me make my observations, or the Frenchman will transact his business without my knowing the sum." Peppino nodded, and taking a rosary from his pocket began to mutter a few prayers while the clerk disappeared through the same door by which Danglars and the attendant had gone out.At the expiration of ten minutes the clerk returned with a beaming countenance."Well?" asked Peppino of 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?"