Paoluccio and his wife made their way to the outer stairs and to bed, leaving Regina to put out the lights and lock up the kitchen.  She lost no time in doing this, ran up the steps in the dark, hung the key on its nail in the entry, and went to her attic, making a loud noise with her loose slippers, so that the couple might hear her.  She came down again in her stockings almost at once, carrying the slippers and a small bundle containing her belongings.  She made no noise now, though it was almost quite dark, and in another instant she was out on the road to Rome.  It had all been done so quickly that she could still hear the jingling of Mommo’s mule bells in the distance.  She had only a few hundred yards to run, and she was walking at the tail of the cart with one hand resting on Marcello’s knee as he lay there wrapped up in the ragged blanket.

CHAPTER VII

It was clear dawn, and there was confusion at the Porta San Giovanni.  Mommo had wakened, red-eyed and cross as usual, a little while before reaching the gate, and had uttered several strange noises to quicken the pace of his mules.  After that, everything had happened as usual, for a little while; he had stopped inside the walls before the guard-house of the city customs, had nodded to the octroi inspectors, and had got his money ready while the printed receipt was being filled out.  Then the excitement had begun.

“You have a passenger,” said one, and Mommo stared at him, not understanding.

“You have a dead man on behind!” yelled a small boy, standing at safe distance.

Mommo began to swear, but one of the inspectors stopped him.

“Get down,” said the man.  “The carabineers are coming.”

Mommo finished his swearing internally, but with increased fervour.  The small boy was joined by others, and they began to jeer in chorus, and perform war-dances.

“There is a tax on dead men!” they screamed.  “You must pay!”

“May you all be butchered!” shouted Mommo, in a voice of thunder.  “May your insides be fried!”

“Brute beast, without education!” hooted the biggest boy, contemptuously.

“I’ll give you the education, and the instruction too,” retorted the carter, making at them with his long whip.

They scattered in all directions, like a flock of cawing jackdaws that fly a little way in tremendous haste, and then settle again at a distance and caw louder than before.

“Animal!” they yelled.  “Animal!  Animal and beast!”

By this time a crowd had collected round the cart, and two carabineers had come up to see what was the matter, quiet, sensible men in extraordinary cocked hats and well-fitting swallow-tailed uniforms of the fashion of 1810.  The carabineers are quite the finest corps in the Italian service, and there are a good many valid reasons why their antiquated dress should not be changed.  Their presence means law and order without unnecessary violence.