“Come,” said Andrea, with sufficient nerve for his servant not to perceive his agitation, “what do you want? Speak quickly, friend.”
The man said, in a low voice: “I wish—I wish you to spare me the walk back to Paris. I am very tired, and as I have not eaten so good a dinner as you, I can scarcely stand.”
The young man shuddered at this strange familiarity.
“Tell me,” he said—“tell me what you want?”
“Well, then, I want you to take me up in your fine carriage, and carry me back.” Andrea turned pale, but said nothing.
“Yes,” said the man, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and looking impudently at the youth; “I have taken the whim into my head; do you understand, Master Benedetto?”
At this name, no doubt, the young man reflected a little, for he went towards his groom, saying:
“This man is right; I did indeed charge him with a commission, the result of which he must tell me; walk to the barrier, there take a cab, that you may not be too late.”
The surprised groom retired.
“Let me at least reach a shady spot,” said Andrea.