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"Where is it? Do you not know? Why, in the curate's house. Run,

run." They rushed in a crowd thither; looked,-listened. All was

quiet. The street door was fastened; not a window open; not a

sound within.

"Who is within there? Holla! holla! Signor Curate, Signor

Curate!"

Don Abbondio, who, as soon as he was relieved by the flight of

the invaders, had retired from the window, and closed it, was now

quarrelling with Perpetua for leaving him to bear the brunt of

the battle alone. When he heard himself called by name, by the

people outside, he repented of the rashness which had produced

this undesired result.

"What has happened? Who are they? Where are they? What have they

done to you?" cried a hundred voices at a time.

"There is no one here now; I am much obliged to you.-Return to

your houses."

"But who has been here? Where have they gone? What has happened?"