Some one slapped him on the shoulder.... He opened his eyes, and saw
Pantaleone.

'He sleeps like Alexander of Macedon on the eve of the battle of
Babylon!' cried the old man.

'What o'clock is it?' inquired Sanin.

'A quarter to seven; it's a two hours' drive to Hanau, and we must
be the first on the field. Russians are always beforehand with their
enemies! I have engaged the best carriage in Frankfort!'

Sanin began washing. 'And where are the pistols?'

'That _ferroflucto Tedesco_ will bring the pistols. He'll bring a
doctor too.'

Pantaleone was obviously putting a good face on it as he had done the
day before; but when he was seated in the carriage with Sanin, when
the coachman had cracked his whip and the horses had started off at a
gallop, a sudden change came over the old singer and friend of Paduan
dragoons. He began to be confused and positively faint-hearted.
Something seemed to have given way in him, like a badly built wall.

'What are we doing, my God, _Santissima Madonna!_' he cried in an
unexpectedly high pipe, and he clutched at his head. 'What am I about,
old fool, madman, _frenetico_?'

Sanin wondered and laughed, and putting his arm lightly round
Pantaleone's waist, he reminded him of the French proverb: '_Le vin