“Well; you have done enough for to-day: but to-morrow, we will see; you must give more full information, and answer all questions that shall be put to you.”
“What information have I to give? I know nothing; I have hardly brains enough to attend to my own affairs.”
“Take care not to let him go away.”
“I hope your honour will remember that I have done my duty. Your honour’s humble servant.”
On the following morning, Renzo was still in a sound and deep sleep, when he was suddenly roused by a shaking of the arms, and by a voice at the foot of the bed, crying, “Lorenzo Tramaglino!” He sat up, and rubbing his eyes, perceived a man clothed in black standing at the foot of his bed, and two others, one on each side of the bolster. Between surprise, sleep, and the fumes of the wine, he remained a moment stupified, believing himself to be still dreaming.
“Ah! you have heard at last! Lorenzo Tramaglino,” said the man in black, the notary of the preceding evening. “Up, up; get up, and come with us.”
“Lorenzo Tramaglino!” said Renzo Tramaglino. “What does this mean? What do you want with me? Who has told you my name?”
“Few words, and get up quickly,” said one of the men at his side, seizing him by the arm.
“Oh! oh! what violence is this?” cried Renzo, drawing away his arm. “Host! oh! host!”
“Shall we carry him off in his shirt?” said one of the officers; turning to the notary.