The relative of the mayor's adjunct was dilating pompously on the duties of a sovereign, when a post-chaise drove furiously up to the door of the tavern.
All was immediately bustle and confusion.
"Horses! four horses wanted!" shouted a voice in the passage.
Then commenced the rattling of harness,—the running hither and thither of ostlers,—and the usual calling and bawling which characterise such occasions.
All the inmates of the coffee-room, with the exception of Markham and the gipsy, rushed out to stare at the equipage.
Scarcely was the room thus left comparatively empty, when a tall man, wrapped in an ample travelling cloak, entered hastily, followed by the landlord.
"Here—we have not a moment to lose—give me change for this bank-note," cried the traveller.
"Yes, sir," said the host, and hurried from the room.
"Signor Bazzano," whispered our hero, who had started from his seat at the sound of the traveller's voice.
"What! Signor Markham!" said the young aide-de-camp, shaking him kindly by the hand. "This is indeed most fortunate! But I have not a moment to spare. Listen! terrible events have taken place at Montoni: you are in danger. You must separate from your attendant, and each gain the Neapolitan frontier by a separate route. Follow my advice, my dear Markham,—as you value your life!"