“I know an inn that will suit you,” said one who had listened to all the speeches without himself saying a word.  “The landlord is a friend of mine, a very worthy man.”

So saying, he took Renzo off to an inn at some little distance, taking pains to ascertain who he was and whence he came.  Arrived at the inn, the new companions shared a bottle of wine which, in Renzo’s excited condition, soon mounted to his head.  Another bottle was called for; and the landlord, being asked if he had a bed, produced pen, ink, and paper, and demanded his name, surname and country.

“What has all this to do with my bed?”

“I do my duty.  We are obliged to report everyone that sleeps in the house.”

“Oh, so I’m to tell my business, am I?  This is something new.  Supposing I had come to Milan to confess, I should go to a Capuchin father, not to an innkeeper.”

“Well, if you won’t, you won’t!” said the landlord, with a glance at Renzo’s companion.  “I’ve done my duty.”

So saying, he withdrew, and shortly afterwards the new-found friend insisted on taking his departure.  At daybreak Renzo was awakened by a shake and a voice calling, “Lorenzo Tramaglino.”

“Eh, what does this mean?  What do you want?  Who told you my name?” said Renzo, starting up, amazed to find three men, two of them fully armed, standing at his bedside.

“You must come with us.  The high sheriff wants to have some words with you.”

Renzo now found himself being led through the streets, that were still filled with a considerable number of last night’s rioters, by no means yet pacified.  When they had gone a little way some of the crowd, noticing them, began to form around the party.

“If I don’t help myself now,” thought Renzo, “it’s my own fault.  My friends,” he shouted, “they’re carrying me off because yesterday I shouted ‘Bread and Justice!’ Don’t abandon me, my friends!”

The crowd at once began to press forward, and the bailiffs, fearing danger, let go of his hands and tried to disappear into the crowd.  Renzo was carried off safely.

His only hope of safety now lay in getting entirely clear of Milan and hiding himself in some other town out of the jurisdiction of the duchy.  He decided to go to Bergamo, which was under Venetian government, where he could live safely with his cousin until such time as Milan had forgotten him.

III.—­The Unnamed’s Penitence

Don Rodrigo was now more determined than ever to accomplish his praiseworthy undertaking, and to this end he sought the help of a very formidable character, a powerful noble, whose bravos had long been the terror of the countryside, and who was always referred to as “The Unnamed.”

Lucia, having been sent one day with a note from the convent where she had found refuge to a monastery at some little distance, found herself suddenly seized from behind, and, regardless of her screams, bundled into a carriage, which drove off at a great pace.