He would now have entered into a
full detail, but was thwarted by the Englishman, who seemed determined
not to credit or indulge him in his stories. An Italian tongue,
however, is not easily checked: that of mine host continued to run on
with increasing volubility as he conveyed the fragments of the repast
out of the room, and the last that could be distinguished of his voice,
as it died away along the corridor, was the constant recurrence of the
favorite word Popkin--Popkin--Popkin--pop--pop--pop.
The arrival of the procaccio had indeed filled the house with stories
as it had with guests. The Englishman and his companions walked out
after supper into the great hall, or common room of the inn, which runs
through the centre building; a gloomy, dirty-looking apartment, with
tables placed in various parts of it, at which some of the travellers
were seated in groups, while others strolled about in famished
impatience for their evening's meal. As the procaccio was a kind of
caravan of travellers, there were people of every class and country,
who had come in all kinds of vehicles; and though they kept in some
measure in separate parties, yet the being united under one common
escort had jumbled them into companionship on the road. Their
formidable number and the formidable guard that accompanied them, had
prevented any molestation from the banditti; but every carriage had its
tale of wonder, and one vied with another in the recital.
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