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Renzo, then, hardly found himself in the street, when he began to

look around, and listen eagerly. There was not, however, an

extraordinary concourse of people; and although on the

countenance of more than one passer-by you could read an

expression of discontent and sedition, yet each one pursued his

way in quietness.

"Prudence! prudence!" murmured the notary behind him. "Your

honour, young man, your honour."

But when Renzo heard three men, who were approaching, talk of a

bakery, of flour concealed, of justice, he began to make signs to

them, and cough in such a manner, as indicated any thing but a

cold. They looked attentively at the convoy, and stopped; others

who had passed by, turned back, and kept themselves a short

distance off.

"Take care; be prudent, my good fellow; do not spoil all; your

honour, your reputation," said the notary in a low voice, but

unheeded by Renzo. The men again twisted the pegs.