"Had Master Villani known I was a cavalier of Malta escaping from the French, he might have been a little more hospitable," I replied; to deceive them as to my real character: for I dreaded being given up to Regnier, perhaps for the sake of a reward. "Who occupy the mountains hereabout?" "Scarolla and Baptistello Varro," replied the host. "But they never visit so poor an albergo as this." "I hope not," faltered the notary, who turned ghastly pale at the name of Varro; and muttering to himself, he glanced uneasily at us all, with eyes that glittered like those of a monkey. "Ah, when will that loitering scoundrel of a postilion return with a smith to repair the calesso? Hound! he contrived very opportunely that the wheel should come off close by the albergo: but let him beware; his neck shall pay the forfeit, if worse comes of this." A quiet laugh spread over the host’s face, like sunshine over a field. "Ser," said the improvisatore, "your postilion is probably only away to the next hill; and when he returns, a score of riflemen will be at his back." The little notary quaked; and although the cunning minstrel merely spoke in jest, his suppositions were indeed too correct. The secret understanding which existed between the brigands, postilions, and innkeepers of south Italy, was notorious: it has formed the machinery of innumerable tales of fiction. But since the campaign of Manhes and the close of the war, Italy has been quite regenerated. The improvisatore received a furious glance from the host, that confirmed my suspicions: but to retire now was almost impossible. After a miserable supper had been washed down by a caraffa of tart country wine, we drew closer to the smoky fire, and composed ourselves round it for the night. The wife and daughter of the host retired to a kind of loft above; resigning the only bed in the house,—viz., a bag of leaves and a blanket or two, to the priest. The notary nodded over his green bag, and, though he started at every sound, pretended to be fast asleep. Notwithstanding my fatigue, thoughts stole over me and kept me awake; and more than once I saw the dark glassy eye of the host observing me intently, from the gloomy corner where he lay on the tiled floor. In short, not to keep the reader any longer behind the curtain, we were in one of those infamous dens which were the resort of the brigands: to whom the keepers conveyed information of all travellers who passed the night with them; stating whether they were armed or escorted by soldiers or sbirri. The suspicious improvisatore again whispered to me that he had no doubt the notary’s postilion was only away to summon his comrades, the banditti. Reflecting that I was unarmed, I felt the utmost anxiety; but retiring might only anticipate matters: the fellows asleep in the corner were well armed, and I saw the hilts of their knives and pistol butts shining in the light of the fire.