‘Padrone,’ said Jacopo to him abruptly, when they descended to find a resting-place, ’you are, I speak humbly, so like the devil that I must enter into a stipulation with you, before I continue in your company, and take the worst at once.  This is going to be the second night of my sleeping away from my wife:  I merely mention it.  I pinch her, and she beats me, and we are equal.  But if you think of making me fight, I tell you I won’t.  If there was a furnace behind me, I should fall into it rather than run against a bayonet.  I ’ve heard say that the nerves are in the front part of us, and that’s where I feel the shock.  Now we’re on a plain footing.  Say that I’m not to fight.  I’ll be your servant till you release me, but say I ‘m not to fight; padrone, say that.’

‘I can’t say that:  I’ll say I won’t make you fight,’ Angelo pacified him by replying.  From this moment Jacopo followed him less like a graceless dog pulled by his chain.  In fact, with the sense of prospective security, he tasted a luxurious amazement in being moved about by a superior will, wafted from his inn, and paid for witnessing strange incidents.  Angelo took care that he was fed well at the place where they slept, but himself ate nothing.  Early after dawn they mounted the heights above the road.  It was about noon that Angelo discerned a party coming from the pass on foot, consisting of two women and three men.  They rested an hour at the village where he had slept overnight; the muskets were a quarter of a mile to the rear of them.  When they started afresh, one of the muskets was discharged, and while the echoes were rolling away, a reply to it sounded in the front.  Angelo, from his post of observation, could see that Vittoria and her party were marching between two guards, and that she herself must have perceived both the front and rearward couple.  Yet she and her party held on their course at an even pace.  For a time he kept them clearly in view; but it was tough work along the slopes of crag:  presently Jacopo slipped and went down.  ‘Ah, padrone,’ he said:  ‘I’m done for; leave me.’

‘Not though I should have to haul you on my back,’ replied Angelo.  ’If I do leave you, I must cut out your tongue.’

‘Rather than that, I’d go on a sprained ankle,’ said Jacopo, and he strove manfully to conquer pain; limping and exclaiming, ’Oh, my little village!  Oh, my little inn!  When can a man say that he has finished running about the world!  The moment he sits, in comes the devil.’

Angelo was obliged to lead him down to the open way, upon which they made slow progress.

‘The noble gentleman might let me return—­he might trust me now,’ Jacopo whimpered.

‘The devil trusts nobody,’ said Angelo.

‘Ah, padrone! there’s a crucifix.  Let me kneel by that.’

Angelo indulged him.  Jacopo knelt by the wayside and prayed for an easy ankle and a snoring pillow and no wakeners.  After this he was refreshed.  The sun sank; the darkness spread around; the air grew icy.  ’Does the Blessed Virgin ever consider what patriots have to endure?’ Jacopo muttered to himself, and aroused a rare laugh from Angelo, who seized him under the arm, half-lifting him on.  At the inn where they rested, he bathed and bandaged the foot.