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On the following morning, Renzo was still in a sound and deep

sleep, when he was suddenly roused by a shaking of the arms, and

by a voice at the foot of the bed, crying, "Lorenzo Tramaglino!"

He sat up, and rubbing his eyes, perceived a man clothed in black

standing at the foot of his bed, and two others, one on each side

of the bolster. Between surprise, sleep, and the fumes of the

wine, he remained a moment stupified, believing himself to be

still dreaming.

"Ah! you have heard at last! Lorenzo Tramaglino," said the man in

black, the notary of the preceding evening. "Up, up; get up, and

come with us."

"Lorenzo Tramaglino!" said Renzo Tramaglino. "What does this

mean? What do you want with me? Who has told you my name?"

"Few words, and get up quickly," said one of the men at his side,

seizing him by the arm.

"Oh! oh! what violence is this?" cried Renzo, drawing away his

arm. "Host! oh! host!"

"Shall we carry him off in his shirt?" said one of the officers;

turning to the notary.