"Forty good scudi of five francs," said the old woman.
"You mean six, and some small change," said Marietta With a smile: "I won't have my little Abate cheated."
"Isn't it only natural, sir," replied the old woman with great coolness, "that I should try to tap you for thirty-four scudi?
What are thirty-four scudi to you, and we—we have lost our protector.
Who is there now to find us lodgings, to beat down prices with the vetturini when we are on the road, and to put the fear of God into everyone?
Giletti was not beautiful, but he was most useful; and if the little girl there hadn't been a fool, and fallen in love with you from the first, Giletti would never have noticed anything, and you would have given us good money.
I can assure you that we are very poor."
Fabrizio was touched; he took out his purse and gave several napoleons to the old woman.
"You see," he said to her, "I have only fifteen left, so it is no use your trying to pull my leg any more."
Little Marietta flung her arms round his neck, and the old woman kissed his hands.
The carriage was moving all this time at a slow trot.
When they saw in the distance the yellow barriers striped with black which indicated the beginning of Austrian territory, the old woman said to Fabrizio:
"You would do best to cross the frontier on foot with Giletti's passport in your pocket; as for us, we shall stop for a minute, on the excuse of making ourselves tidy.
And besides, the dogana will want to look at our things.
If you will take my advice, you will go through Casalmaggiore at a careless stroll; even go into the caffe and drink a glass of brandy, once you are past the village, put your best foot foremost.
The police are as sharp as the devil in an Austrian country; they will pretty soon know there has been a man killed; you are travelling with a passport which is not yours, that is more than enough to get you two years in prison.
Make for the Po on your right after you leave the town, hire a boat and get away to Ravenna or Ferrara; get clear of the Austrian States as quickly as ever you can.
With a couple of louis you should be able to buy another passport from some doganiere; it would be fatal to use this one; don't forget that you have killed the man."
As he approached, on foot, the bridge of boats at Casalmaggiore, Fabrizio carefully reread Giletti's passport.
Our hero was in great fear, he recalled vividly all that Conte Mosca had said to him about the danger involved in his entering Austrian territory; well, two hundred yards ahead of him he saw the terrible bridge which was about to give him access to that country, the capital of which, in his eyes, was the Spielberg.
But what else was he to do?
The Duchy of Modena, which marches with the State of Parma on the South, returned its fugitives in compliance with a special convention; the frontier of the State which extends over the mountains in the direction of Genoa was too far off; his misadventure would be known at Parma long before he could reach those mountains; there remained therefore nothing but the Austrian States on the left bank of the Po.
Before there was time to write to the Austrian authorities asking them to arrest him, thirty-six hours, or even two days must elapse. All these considerations duly weighed, Fabrizio set a light with his cigar to his own passport; it was better for him, on Austrian soil, to be a vagabond than to be Fabrizio del Dongo, and it was possible that they might search him.
Quite apart from the very natural repugnance which he felt towards entrusting his life to the passport of the unfortunate Giletti, this document presented material difficulties. Fabrizio's height was, at the most, five feet five inches, and not five feet ten inches as was stated on the passport. He was not quite twenty-four, and looked younger. Giletti had been thirty-nine.
We must confess that our hero paced for a good half-hour along a flood-barrier of the Po near the bridge of boats before making up his mind to go down on to it.
"What should I advise anyone else to do in my place?" he asked himself finally.
"Obviously, to cross: there is danger in remaining in the State of Parma; a constable may be sent in pursuit of the man who has killed another man, even in self-defence."
Fabrizio went through his pocket, tore up all his papers, and kept literally nothing but his handkerchief and his cigar-case; it was important for him to curtail the examination which he would have to undergo.
He thought of a terrible objection which might be raised, and to which he could find no satisfactory answer: he was going to say that his name was Giletti, and all his linen was marked F. D.
As we have seen, Fabrizio was one of those unfortunates who are tormented by their imagination; it is a characteristic fault of men of intelligence in Italy.
A French soldier of equal or even inferior courage would have gone straight to the bridge and have crossed it without more ado, without thinking beforehand of any possible difficulties; but also he would have carried with him all his coolness, and Fabrizio was far from feeling cool when, at the end of the bridge, a little man, dressed in grey, said to him:
"Go into the police office and shew your passport."
This office had dirty walls studded with nails from which hung the pipes and the soiled hats of the officials.
The big deal table behind which they were installed was spotted all over with stains of ink and wine; two or three fat registers bound in raw hide bore stains of all colours, and the margins of the pages were black with finger-marks.
On top of the registers which were piled one on another lay three magnificent wreaths of laurel which had done duty a couple of days before for one of the Emperor's festivals.
Fabrizio was impressed by all these details; they gave him a tightening of the heart; this was the price he must pay for the magnificent luxury, so cool and clean, that caught the eye in his charming rooms in the palazzo Sanseverina.
He was obliged to enter this dirty office and to appear there as an inferior; he was about to undergo an examination.
The official who stretched out a yellow hand to take his passport was small and dark. He wore a brass pin in his necktie.
"This is an ill-tempered fellow," thought Fabrizio.
The gentleman seemed excessively surprised as he read the passport, and his perusal of it lasted fully five minutes.
"You have met with an accident," he said to the stranger, looking at his cheek.
"The vetturino flung us out over the embankment."
Then the silence was resumed, and the official cast sour glances at the traveller.
"I see it now," Fabrizio said to himself, "he is going to inform me that he is sorry to have bad news to give me, and that I am under arrest."
All sorts of wild ideas surged simultaneously into our hero's brain, which at this moment was not very logical.
For instance, he thought of escaping by a door in the office which stood open.
"I get rid of my coat, I jump into the Po, and no doubt I shall be able to swim across it.
Anything is better than the Spielberg."
The police official was staring fixedly at him, while he calculated the chances of success of this dash for safety; they furnished two interesting types of the human countenance.
The presence of danger gives a touch of genius to the reasoning man, places him, so to speak, above his own level: in the imaginative man it inspires romances, bold, it is true, but frequently absurd.