“But,” said one, “to-morrow, at the latest, we shall know something from Milan.”
“I am sorry I did not go to Milan this morning,” said another.
“If you will go to-morrow, I will go with you,” said two or three.
“That which I wish to know,” replied the first speaker, “is, if these gentlemen of Milan will think of poor people abroad, or if they will only think of obtaining advantages for themselves. You know how they are. The citizens are proud—they think only of themselves; the villagers are treated as if they were not Christians.”
“We have mouths also, to eat, and to give our reasons,” said another in a voice as timid as the remark was daring, “and since the thing has begun——” But he did not think to finish his sentence.
“It is not only in Milan, that they conceal grain,” said another, with a mysterious air—when suddenly they heard approaching the trampling of a horse. They ran to the door, and recognising the person who arrived, they went out to receive him. It was a merchant of Milan, who, going frequently to Bergamo on business, was accustomed to pass the night at this inn, and as he had almost always found there the same company, he had formed an acquaintance with all of them. They crowded around him—one held the bridle, another the stirrup. “You are welcome.”
“And I am glad to find you all here.”
“Have you made a good journey?”
“Very good. And you all, how do you do?”
“Well, well. What news from Milan?”