"
A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the arrival of more
travellers; and from the variety of voices, or rather clamors, the
clattering of horses' hoofs, the rattling of wheels, and the general
uproar both within and without, the arrival seemed to be numerous. It
was, in fact, the procaccio, and its convoy--a kind of caravan of
merchandise, that sets out on stated days, under an escort of soldiery
to protect it from the robbers. Travellers avail themselves of the
occasion, and many carriages accompany the procaccio. It was a long
time before either landlord or waiter returned, being hurried away by
the tempest of new custom. When mine host appeared, there was a smile
of triumph on his countenance.--"Perhaps," said he, as he cleared away
the table, "perhaps the signor has not heard of what has happened."
"What?" said the Englishman, drily.
"Oh, the procaccio has arrived, and has brought accounts of fresh
exploits of the robbers, signor."
"Pish!"
"There's more news of the English Milor and his family," said the host,
emphatically.
"An English lord.-What English lord?"
"Milor Popkin."
"Lord Popkin? I never heard of such a title!"
"_O Sicuro_--a great nobleman that passed through here lately with his
Milady and daughters--a magnifico--one of the grand councillors of
London--un almanno."
"Almanno--almanno?--tut! he means alderman."
"Sicuro, aldermanno Popkin, and the principezza Popkin, and the signorina
Popkin!" said mine host, triumphantly.
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