Meanwhile, at a sign from her mistress, the maid had brought in the wine. The stranger took a drink, passing on the goblet to his companions, and meditated in silence on the very extraordinary scene he had unconsciously been the cause of. One after another the men laid down their spoons, and went out with a "Good-night, Padrona!" At last the three were left alone with the hostess and the old maid.
"The sun rises at four o'clock," said one of the smugglers in an undertone to the stranger. "Your Excellency need not rise any earlier—we shall reach Pistoja in good time. Besides, we must think of the horse, which must have six hours' rest."
"Very well, my friends. Go to bed!"
"We will waken your Excellency."
"Do so in any case," answered the stranger, "although the Madonna knows I do not often sleep six hours at a stretch. Good-night, Carlone; good-night, Master Baccio!"
The men raised their hats respectfully, and got up. One of them went up to the hearth, and said:—
"I have a greeting for you, Padrona, from Costanzo of Bologna; he wants to know if he forgot his knife here last Saturday?"
"No," she answered shortly and impatiently.
"I told him you would certainly have sent it back to him if it had been left here. And then—"