“I was thinking of that,” replied the coachman; “and besides, the cloth is too fine. Such stuff as that is not often seen in our country. It would attract attention. I will go and buy clothes from the Jew. Your Excellency is about my height, only thinner.”
“For mercy’s sake, don’t call me your Excellency! That will attract attention.”
“Yes, your Excellency,” replied the coachman, as he went out of the shop.
“Halloo! halloo!” shouted Fabrizio. “What about the money? Come back!”
“Don’t talk of money,” said the hostess. “He has sixty-seven crowns, which are very much at your service, and I,” she added, dropping her voice, “have forty, which I offer you with all my heart. One does not always happen to have money about one when such accidents as these occur.”
When Fabrizio had entered the trattoria he had taken off his coat on account of the heat.
“If any one should come in, that waistcoat of yours might get us into difficulties; that fine English cloth would be remarked.”
She gave the fugitive one of her husband’s waistcoats, made of canvas dyed black. A tall young man entered the shop through an inner door; there was a touch of elegance about his dress.
“This is my husband,” said the hostess.—“Pietro Antonio,” said she to her husband, “this gentleman is a friend of Ludovico’s. He had an accident this morning on the other side of the river; he wants to escape to Ferrara.”