Half-past six! The loiterers about the inn door remark to each
other, that unless "something" has happened old Cecco Zoppo can't be
far off now.
The arrival of the Bologna diligence, the main means of
communication between remote out-of-the-way Ravenna and the rest of
the world, was always a matter of interest in the old-world little
city, where matters of interest were so few. And on a pleasant
evening in spring or summer the attendance of expectant loungers was
wont to be far larger than it was on that bitter November night, and
to include a large number of amateurs; whereas the half-dozen now
waiting were all either officially or otherwise directly interested
in the arrival. Indeed, there was a very special interest attached
to the coming of the expected vehicle on that November night; and
nothing but the extreme severity of the weather would have prevented
a very distinguished assemblage from being on the spot to hear the
first news that was expected to be brought by one of the travellers.
"Eccolo! I heard the bells, underneath the gate-way. Per Bacco, it
is time! I'm well-nigh frozen alive," said Pippo, the ostler.
"If they don't keep him an hour at the gate," rejoined a decidedly
more ragged and poverty-stricken individual, who held recognized
office as the ostler's assistant.
"Not such a night as this! Those gentlemen there at the gate can
feel the cold for themselves, if they can't feel nothing else,"
rejoined the ostler, who was a frondeur and disaffected to the
government, in consequence of a drunken grandson having been turned
out of the place of third assistant scullion in the kitchen of the
Cardinal Legate.
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