The company halted at the door, and a loud, gruff voice was raised to cry: "Locandiere! Afoot, sluggard!" I stepped to the door, with very natural curiosity, a company of four mounted men escorting a mule-litter, the curtains of which were drawn so that nothing might be seen of him or her that rode within.

Grooms were those four, as all the world might see at the first glance, and the livery they wore was that of the noble House of Santafior--the holy white flower of the quince being embroidered on the breast of their gabardines.
They bore upon them such signs of hard and hasty travelling that it was soon guessed they had spent the night in the saddle.

Their horses were in a foam of sweat; and the men themselves were splashed with mud from foot to cap.
Even as I was going forward to regard them the taverner appeared, leading my horse by the bridle.

Now at an inn the traveller that arrives is ever of more importance than he that departs.

At sight of those horsemen, the taverner forgot my impatience, for he paused to bow in welcome to the one that seemed the leader.
"Most Magnificent," said he to that liveried hind, "command me." "We need a guide," the fellow answered with an ill grace.
"A guide, Illustrious ?" quoth the host.