“A man in my position does not take out a passport to go from Milan to see the lake. This morning, at Como, I was told I should be arrested at the gate. I left the town on foot with my daughter. I hoped I might meet with some carriage on the road, which would take me to Milan, where my first visit will certainly be to the general commanding the province, to lay my complaint before him.”
The sergeant seemed relieved of a great weight.
“Very good, general, you are under arrest, and I shall take you to Milan.—And who are you?” he said, turning to Fabrizio.
“My son,” put in the countess, “Ascanio, son of General Pietranera.”
“Without a passport, madam?” said the sergeant, very much more politely.
“He is so young! He has never had one; he never travels alone; he is always with me!”
While this colloquy was proceeding, General Conti had been growing more and more dignified, and more and more angry with the gendarmes.
“Not so many words!” said one of them at last; “you’re arrested, and there’s an end of it.”
“You’ll be very lucky,” said the sergeant, “if we give you leave to hire a horse from some peasant! Otherwise, in spite of the dust and the heat, and your chamberlainship, you’ll just march along among our horses.”