Like the immortal Marchioness, Dick Swiveller's friend, in the Old Curiosity Shop, the Italians, when the realities of circumstances are unfavourable, can always manage to gild them a little by "making believe very strong." "Now then, Signora Marta, bring out your light," called the deputy ostler in at the inn door.
The individual addressed as Signor Conte became evidently excited, and prepared himself to be the first to present himself at the door of the coach as it drew up opposite the inn.

The ostler stepped out into the street with his stable lanthorn.

Signora Marta, shivering, with a huge shawl over her head, took up her position, lanthorn in hand, behind the Signor Conte, and the ramshackle old coach, rattling over the uneven round cobble-stones of the execrable pavement with a crash of noise that seemed to threaten that every jolt would be its last, came to a standstill at the inn door.
The Signor Conte Leandro Lombardoni--that was the name of the young man hitherto called Il Signor Conte--opened the door with his own hand, and, putting his head eagerly into the interior, cried, "Are you there, Signor Ercole?
Well! What news?
Have you succeeded?
Let me give you a hand." "Grazie, Signor Leandro, grazie," replied a high-pitched voice of singularly shrill quality from within the vehicle, "I don't know whether I can move.

Misericordia! che viaggio! What a journey I have had.

I am nearly dead.