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On! on! he passed hamlets and villages, without asking the name

of them; hoping that, whilst he was removing from Milan, he was

approaching Bergamo. He looked behind him from time to time,

while pressing onwards, and rubbing first one wrist, then the

other, which bore the red marks from the painful pressure of the

manacles. His thoughts were a confused medley of repentance,

anxiety, and resentment; and he wearily retraced the

circumstances of the preceding night, to ascertain what had

plunged him into these difficulties, and above all, how they came

to know his name. His suspicions rested on the cutler, whose

curiosity he well remembered, and he had also a confused

recollection that after his departure he had continued to talk,

but with whom, his memory did not serve to inform him. The poor

fellow was lost in these speculations; the past was a chaos.