“You want to be running after the French, then, _razza male_, _detta_?” cried he, making off after his companion. Teresa stood silent and intimidated at the accusation. At last, perceiving a young workman singing as he proceeded gaily to his business, she ventured to renew her inquiries. “Aha, signorina!” cried he, in a tone of bantering, “you must needs make one in the battle, eh? But there will be little room left yonder for pretty damsels; better stay with us here, at Asti. ’Tis a fête to-day. The dancing will begin early in the afternoon; and the _drudi ballarini_ will fall to breaking each other’s heads, to have you for a partner. Faith, you are worth the trouble of a fight! Eh! what say you to a skirmish in your honour?” And, approaching Teresa Girardi, he was about to throw his arm round her waist; but, startled by her indignant glance and exclamation, desisted, and resumed his song and his occupation. A fourth, a fifth, now traversed the street, but the poor girl no longer hazarded an inquiry, but kept watching every opening door, and peeping into every courtyard in hopes to find some carriage in waiting. At length, by especial favour, she managed to obtain a place as far as Annone. Between Annone and Felizano—between Felizano and Alexandria—she was perplexed by a thousand farther difficulties. But with courage and perseverance all were at length surmounted, and she arrived happily at Alexandria. As she anticipated, the Emperor had already taken his departure for Marengo; and without pausing a moment for deliberation, she followed the crowd which was pouring from the suburbs along the road towards the field of battle. Hurried on with the multitude, pressed and jostled on all sides, watching eagerly for openings in the crowd, skirting the outermost edges of the road, Teresa neglected no opportunity of pushing forward. Undisturbed by the clamour of the trumpets, the sports of the merry-andrews, or the discourses of the monks, she pursued her way in the midst of the laughing, yelling, shouting populace, which went leaping on in the heat and dust—a poor solitary stranger, apart from the sports and the joys of the day—her countenance anxious—her eye haggard—and raising her hand at intervals to wipe away the dew from her weary brows. But the whole force and fortitude of Teresa’s mind were devoted to her progress. She has scarcely even found a moment for the contemplation of the farther means to be adopted. But a halt being suddenly imposed upon the crowd on reaching the outskirts of the field, she began to reflect on the uneasiness the prolongation of her absence would cause to her father (since the guide who had deserted her at Turin would not be permitted to enter the prison). She thought of Charney accusing his messenger of neglect and indifference; then felt for the petition in her bosom, apprehensive that, by some unlucky chance, it might have escaped her.