"Yes, yes, they may have their way now; to-morrow—to-morrow, we will see if the heat is dislodged from their brains. What do you think?"
"I don't know."
"That the mob will become masters in Milan?"
"Certainly!"
"You shall see, you shall see."
"I understand—I know the king will be always the king; but he who has taken any thing will keep it. Naturally a poor father of a family has no desire to give back; your honours have the power; that belongs to you."
"Have you still some people at your house?"
"A number."
"And this your customer, what is he about? Is he still labouring to excite the people to sedition?"
"This stranger, your honour means; he is gone to sleep."
"Then you have a number? Well, be careful not to let them go away."
"Am I to play the constable?" thought the host, but said nothing.
"Return to your house, and be prudent," resumed the notary.
"I have always been prudent. Your honour can say that I have never made any disturbance."
"Well, well; but do not think that justice has lost its power."
"I! Good heavens! I think nothing. I am an innkeeper."
"The same old tune. Have you nothing more to say?"
"What else would your honour have me say? Truth is one."
"Well; you have done enough for to-day: but to-morrow, we will see; you must give more full information, and answer all questions that shall be put to you."
"What information have I to give? I know nothing; I have hardly brains enough to attend to my own affairs."
"Take care not to let him go away."
"I hope your honour will remember that I have done my duty. Your honour's humble servant."
