The mention of the Croats struck her fugitive senses with a panic. 'I must wait for my maid,' she said, attempting to deliberate. 'Ha! you have a maid: of course you have! Where is your maid?' 'She ought to have returned by this time. If not, she is on the road.' 'On the road? Good; we will pick up the maid on the road. We have not a minute to spare. Lady, I am your obsequious servant. Hasten out, I beg of you. I was taught at my school that minutes are not to be wasted. Those Croats have been drinking and what not on the way, or they would have been here before this. You can't rely on Italian innkeepers to conceal you.' 'Signore, are you a man of honour?' 'Illustrious lady, I am.' She listened simply to the response without giving heed to the prodigality of gesture. The necessity for flight now that Milan was announced as lying quiet, had become her sole thought. Angelo was standing by the carriage. 'What man is this?' said Herr Johannes, frowning. 'He is my servant,' said Vittoria. 'My dear good lady, you told me your servant was a maid. This will never do. We can't have him.' 'Excuse me, signore, I never travel without him.' 'Travel! This is not a case of travelling, but running; and when you run, if you are in earnest about it, you must fling away your baggage and arms.' Herr Johannes tossed out his moustache to right and left, and stamped his foot. He insisted that the man should be left behind. 'Off, sir! back to Milan, or elsewhere,' he cried. 'Beppo, mount on the box,' said Vittoria. Her command was instantly obeyed. Herr Johannes looked her in the face. 'You are very decided, my dear lady.' He seemed to have lost his own decision, but handing Vittoria in, he drew a long cigar from his breastpocket, lit it, and mounted beside the coachman. The chasseur had disappeared.