"Follow me!" said the prefect. "The man is mad, and we have ourselves to think of."
As they were about to turn the corner of Puttini's house, they heard people approaching who were probably going down the stairs. The door of Puttini's house was open. The friends slipped inside. The people passed, talking. They were peasants, and one was saying: "Where the deuce can he be going at this hour?" Alas, they had met and recognised Franco! If the gendarmes and the guards should start out to hunt for the fugitives and come across these people, they would discover a trace at once. Towards dawn one is always sure of meeting people. This time they had been able to avoid being seen, but a second time they might be less fortunate, and a meeting might prove as fatal to Pedraglio and the lawyer as this one would probably prove to Franco. "If you could only disguise yourselves as peasants!" said the priest. A happy thought struck the lawyer, who had something both of the poet and the artist, and who was well acquainted with Puttini. He would take Scior Zacomo's clothes for Pedraglio, who was also short, and the big, fat servant's clothes for himself; stuff their own things into a gerla, [Q] fasten it upon his back, and start for Boglia. The "first political deputy" of Albogasio might have a hundred reasons for visiting the forest belonging to the commune. No sooner said than done! They proceeded upstairs, and the prefect, who was familiar with the house, went straight to call Marianna. She did not answer, and her room was empty. The prefect guessed at once that the unfaithful servant had gone to S. Mamette for some secret business transaction, like that of the oil. That was why they had found the door open. They went to the kitchen and lighted two candles. The lawyer took one and the prefect pointed out Scior Zacomo's room to him. Meanwhile Pedraglio explored the kitchen by the light of the other candle, in search of "something wet, something to brace him up."
Scior Zacomo slept in a corner room beyond the hall which the lawyer crossed on tiptoe, picking his way between piles of chestnuts, walnuts, filberts, and pears. He approached the door—it was closed. He listened—silence. Very slowly he turned the handle and pushed. The beastly door squeaked—he heard a formidable snort, and Scior Zacomo cried out angrily: "Go away! Let me alone! Go away!" The lawyer entered without further parley. "Away with you, you accursed woman! Go away, I tell you!" cried Scior Zacomo, the point of his white night-cap rising out of the pillows. On catching sight of the lawyer he began to groan: "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, dear me! For pity's sake, forgive me! I thought it was my servant. Most distinguished Advocate, for the love of Heaven, tell me what has happened."
"Nothing, nothing, Scior Zacomo!" said the lawyer. "Only the Commissary of Porlezza is here——"
"Oh, good Lord!" and Scior Zacomo started to stick his legs out of bed.
"It is nothing, nothing! Be calm, be calm! Cover yourself up; cover yourself up again! We are going up to Boglia on account of that accursed bull, you know."
"Oh, Lord! What are you talking about? There is no bull at Boglia at this time of the year. Oh! I am all bathed in sweat!"
"Never mind. I tell you we are going to see the place, to see where he used to be. But the Commissary has very good reasons for strictly forbidding you to accompany us; he forbids you, moreover, to go out until we return, and he has even ordered me to remove your clothes."
Then he began rapidly collecting Puttini's garments, commanding him in the name of the Commissary to be silent. He took possession of the tall hat, seized the bamboo walking-stick, ordered the wretched man to bolt the door as soon as he should have left the room, and to open it to no one, to speak to no one, until the Commissary's return; all this in the name of that dreaded functionary. Then, leaving the poor man more dead than alive, he once more joined his companions, who, by dint of much searching, had found a filthy dress of Marianna's, a big, red kerchief for the head, a gerla, and a bottle of Anesone triduo. [R] "The deuce!" swore the lawyer, on examining the loathsome garments he must don. His disguise was indeed most unsatisfactory. The skirt was too short, and the kerchief did not hide his face sufficiently. However there was no time to look for anything better. But Pedraglio, in the tall hat, with the bamboo walking-stick in his hand, was a perfect Scior Zacomo. The lawyer thrust an old manuscript pamphlet he found in the kitchen under his friend's arm, and showed him how to walk and puff. Finally he took the keys to the wine-cellar, two enormous keys, gave one to Pedraglio and put the other in his own pocket. These would prove valuable weapons in case of need; one, he said, would strike in the treble key, the other in the bass. And so they went out, the prefect first, followed by the false Scior Zacomo puffing like a steam-engine, and then the false Marianna and her gerla bringing up the rear. Hardly had they reached the street when the real Marianna appeared, returning from S. Mamette with an empty flask. Catching sight of her master's tall hat looming in the uncertain light, she faced about and made off as fast as her legs would carry her.
"Miserable thief!" the prefect exclaimed. "Excellent! Your disguise is splendid!" In five minutes they had reached the Boglia road. Then the prefect turned homewards, and presently, hearing people coming up from Albogasio Superiore talking of gendarmes and guards, he went to meet them and inquired what had happened. Oh, nothing very important; only the gendarmes and soldiers had been to Casa Ribera to arrest Don Franco Maironi, and, it would appear, lawyer V. also, for they were sure he must have been there, and they had been asking every one about him. However, they had found neither one nor the other of the friends, although the customs-guards had been watching the house since midnight. Now the police were searching all the houses in Oria, in the belief that the two men must have escaped by the roof. While the prefect was listening to this news a boy came running towards them from the direction of Albogasio Superiore. They stopped him. "The guards!" he gasped; "the gendarmes!" He was as white as a sheet; why he was running away he himself could not tell, and they found it impossible to gather from him where the gendarmes were. A woman appeared on the scene who was able to give them more information. Four customs-guards and four gendarmes had just now crossed the square in Albogasio Superiore. It was rumoured that Don Franco had been seen on the road to Castello, and two gendarmes with two guards had started towards the Boglia. The priest shuddered. "Of course," some one said, "they will cut him off on the Boglia road." The prefect took some comfort in the thought that both gendarmes and guards were now searching for Franco only. He was so tall, so slender, that neither the false Puttini nor the false Marianna could possibly be suspected of being him. Their fate was now beyond his control, but for Franco he could still do much. He started for Cressogno, confident that Franco would reach that place in safety, if the gendarmes did not discover any fresh traces, for they would search for him on all the paths leading from Castello to the frontier, but not on the road to Cressogno.