It was indeed Chiquita herself, and
with her, Agostino--the ingenious rascal, whose laughable exploit
with his scarecrow brigands has been already recorded--who, tired of
following a profession that yielded no profits, had set out on foot for
Paris--where all men of talent could find employment they said--marching
by night, and lying hidden by day, like all other beasts of prey. The
poor child, overcome with fatigue and benumbed by the cold, had given
out entirely that night, in spite of her valiant efforts to keep up with
Agostino, and he had at last picked her up in his arms and carried her
for a while--she was but a light burden--hoping to find some sort of
shelter soon.
"What can be the meaning of this?" he said to Chiquita. "Usually we stop
the vehicles, but here we are stopped by one in our turn; we must look
out lest it be full of travellers, ready to demand our money or our
lives."
"There's nobody in it," Chiquita replied, having peeped in under the
cover.
"Perhaps there may be something worth having inside there," Agostino
said; "we will look and see," and he proceeded to light the little dark
lantern he always had with him, for the daylight was not yet strong
enough to penetrate into the dusky interior of the chariot.
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