Teresa now gave herself up to despair. Absorbed in anxious thought, she stationed herself with downcast looks on the steps of the inn, where luckily the gathering darkness secured her from recognition by the inhabitants of her native city, when suddenly the sound of approaching wheels became audible, accompanied by the tinkling of mule-bells; and at the very door where she was standing there appeared two powerful mules drawing one of those long caravans in use among travelling merchants, of which the boxes, closed by heavy padlocks, are made to open and form a movable shop, but the only accommodation of which, for passengers, consists in a narrow leathern seat in front, half under cover of a small awning of oil-cloth. The man and woman, owners of the cart and its merchandise, having alighted, began to stretch their arms and yawn aloud, stamping with their feet by way of rousing themselves after a long and heavy slumber. At length, having familiarly saluted the hostess, they took refuge in the chimney-corner, holding out their hands and feet towards the vine-stocks blazing on the hearth; and after ordering the mules to be unharnessed and carefully attended to, they began to congratulate each other on the conclusion of their tedious journey, ordered supper, and talked of bed. The hostess, too, was preparing for rest. The yawning waiters closed up the doors and window-shutters; and poor Teresa, watching with tearful eyes all these preparations, thought only of the hours that were passing away, the dying flower, and the despair of the Count de Charney. “A night, a whole night!” she exclaimed; “a night of which every minute will be counted by that unhappy man; while _I_ shall be safe asleep. Nay, even to-morrow, it will be perhaps impossible for me to find a conveyance!” And she cast her wistful eyes upon the two travellers, as if her last hope lay in their assistance. But she was still ignorant of the road they were to take, or whether they could or would be troubled with her company; and the poor girl, unaccustomed to find herself alone among strangers, still less among strangers of such a class, impelled by anxiety, but withheld by timidity, advanced a step towards them, then paused, mute, trembling, and undecided; when she was startled by the approach of a female servant, holding a candle and a key, who pointed out to her the room into which she was to retire for the night. Forced by this proposition to take some immediate step, Teresa put aside the arm of the _giannina_, and advancing towards the couple, engaged in munching their supper, entreated pardon for the interruption, and inquired what road they were to take on quitting Turin. “To Alexandria, my pretty maid,” replied the woman, starting at the question. “To Alexandria! ’Twas then my guardian angel who brought you hither!” cried Teresa, overjoyed. “I wish he had picked out a better road, then, signorina,” cried the woman, “for we are all but ground to powder!”