"And in order to do ours, we must make all the haste we can," said the merchant. And so they traversed the streets of the capital. Night had set in, and the confusion and bustle seemed sadder still under her cloak. Crowds of the lowest of the populace, patrols of military, bands of fugitive peasantry jostled each other, snatching, shrieking, cursing. Many windows were illuminated, and their brilliance cast a shadowless, ghostly glare over the streets. Thick red clouds rolled above the roofs of the houses, for one of the suburbs was on fire, and the wind blew swarms of golden sparks and burning splinters over the heads of the travelers. Meanwhile the bells of the churches kept up a monotonous tolling. The strangers hurried silently along, the imperious tones of their escort always making way for them through the most unruly throng. At length they reached the house of the agent of their firm. It was shut up, and they had to knock long and loud before a window was opened, and a piteous voice heard asking who was there. When they entered the agent ran to meet them, wringing his hands, and tearfully falling on the merchant's neck. The presence of the young insurgent prevented him from expressing his feelings. He threw open the nearest door, and in lamentable tones apologized for the exceeding disorder in which the room was. Chests and coffers were being packed up; male and female servants were running to and fro, hiding silver candlesticks here, thrusting in silver spoons there. Meanwhile the master of the house never left off wringing his hands, lamenting his misfortunes and those of the firm, welcoming, and, in the same breath, regretting the arrival of the principal, and every now and then assuring the young officer, with choking voice, that he too was a patriot, and that it was only owing to an unaccountable mistake on the part of one of the maids that the cockade had been taken off his hat. It was plain that the man and his whole family had quite lost their wits. The merchant had much trouble before he could get him into a corner and hear some business details. It appeared that the wagons had arrived in town on the very day that the insurrection broke out. Through the foresight of one of the wagoners, they had been taken into the great court-yard of a remote inn, but as to what had become of them since then the agent knew nothing. After some further conversation the merchant said, "We shall not claim your hospitality to-night; we shall sleep wherever our wagons are." All the persuasions of the agent were peremptorily rejected. This worthy but weak man seemed really distressed at the new danger into which his friend was determined to run. "I shall call you up early," said the merchant, as he left; "I propose setting out to-morrow with my wagons, but first I wish to make a few, as you know, necessary visits to our customers, and to have your company during them." The agent promised to do his best by daylight.