"The tumult continues, then?" asked he, with eagerness.
"One must have been on the spot, to know if it were so," said Renzo.
"But do you not come from Milan?"
"I come from Liscate," replied the youth, who, in the mean while had prepared his answer. He had, indeed, come from that place, as he had passed through it. He had learned its name from a traveller who had mentioned it, as the first village on his road to Gorgonzola.
"Oh!" said his interrogator, "I wish you had come from Milan. But patience—and did you hear nothing from Milan at Liscate?"
"It is very possible that others knew something," replied our mountaineer; "but I have heard nothing."
The inquisitive person rejoined his companions.
"How far is it from this to the Adda?" said Renzo to the host, in a low careless tone, as he set before him something to eat.
"To the Adda? to cross the river?"
"That is—yes—to the Adda."
"Would you cross the bridge of Cassano, or the ferry of Canonica?"
"Where are they?—I ask simply from curiosity."
"Ah! I name them because they are the places chosen by honest people, who are willing to give an account of themselves."
"That is right. And how far are they?"
"It must be about six miles."
"Six miles! I did not know that," said he. "But," resuming an air of indifference, "if one wished to shorten the distance, are there not other places, where one might cross?"
"Certainly," replied the host, looking at him with an expression of malignant curiosity, which restrained Renzo from any further enquiry. He drew the dish towards him, and looking at the decanter the host had put on the table, said, "Is this wine pure?"
"As gold. Ask all the inhabitants of the village, and
