On my last evening Don
Pasquale gave a good account of the sky; he thought I might
hopefully set forth on the morrow, and, though I was to leave at
eight o'clock, promised to come and see me off. Very early I looked
forth, and the prospect seemed doubtful; I had half a mind to
postpone departure. But about seven came Don Pasquale's servant,
sent by his master to inquire whether I should start or not, and,
after asking the man's opinion, I decided to take courage. The sun
rose; I saw the streets of Catanzaro brighten in its pale gleams,
and the rack above interspaced with blue.
Luckily my carriage-owner was a man of prudence; at the appointed
hour he sent a covered vehicle--not the open _carozzella_ in which
I should have cheerfully set forth had it depended upon myself. Don
Pasquale, too, though unwilling to perturb me, could not altogether
disguise his misgivings. At my last sight of him, he stood on the
pavement before the hotel gazing anxiously upwards. But the sun
still shone, and as we began the descent of the mountain-side I felt
annoyed at having to view the landscape through loopholes.
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