carrying her off, which had proved successful.
Her lover, however, Ernest, the same officer of hussars who had been M.
Louet's travelling companion, is in search of her; and, to assist him in
his pursuit, she writes her name, and that of the place they are next
going to, upon the window of each inn they stop at. It was for this
purpose she had secured M. Louet's diamond ring.

If contrast was Dumas' object in writing this volume, he has certainly
been highly successful in carrying out his intention. Most writers would
have contented themselves with composing the female portion of the
brigands' society, of some dark-browed Italian _contadina_, with flashing
eyes and jetty ringlets, a knife in her garter and a mousquetoon in her
brawny fist, and a dozen crucifixes and amulets round her neck. At most,
one might have expected to meet with some English lady in a green veil,
(all English ladies, who travel, wear green veils,) whose carriage had
been attacked, and herself carried off on the road from Florence to Rome.
But M. Dumas scorns such commonplace _dramatis personae_, and is satisfied
with nothing less than transporting a French ballet-dancer into the
Appenines, with all her paraphernalia of gauze drapery, tinsel decorations,
and opera airs and graces; not forgetting the orchestra, in the person of
the luckless bass player. Yet so ingeniously does he dovetail it all
together, so probable does he make his improbabilities appear, that we
become almost reconciled to the idea of finding Mademoiselle Zephyrine
Taglionizing away upon the filthy floor of a mountain _osteria_, and are
inclined to be astonished that the spectators should not be provided with
bouquets to throw at her upon the conclusion of her performance.

Several days are passed in running from one place to the other, always
followed by the hussars, from whom the banditti have some narrow escapes.
M. Louet is taken great care of in consideration of his skill as a
musician, and he on his part takes all imaginable care of his bass, which
he looks upon as a sort of a safeguard. At length they arrive at the
castle of Anticoli, a villa which the captain rents from a Roman nobleman,
and where he considers himself in perfect safety. Here M. Louet is
installed in a magnificent apartment, where he finds linen and clothes, of
which he is much in need. His toilet completed, he is conducted to the
drawing-room by a livery servant, who bears a strong resemblance to one of
h