CHAPTER VII.
It was clear dawn, and there was confusion at the Porta San Giovanni.
Mommo had wakened, red-eyed and cross as usual, a little while before reaching the gate, and had uttered several strange noises to quicken the pace of his mules.

After that, everything had happened as usual, for a little while; he had stopped inside the walls before the guard-house of the city customs, had nodded to the octroi inspectors, and had got his money ready while the printed receipt was being filled out.

Then the excitement had begun.
"You have a passenger," said one, and Mommo stared at him, not understanding.
"You have a dead man on behind!" yelled a small boy, standing at safe distance.
Mommo began to swear, but one of the inspectors stopped him.
"Get down," said the man.

"The carabineers are coming." Mommo finished his swearing internally, but with increased fervour.

The small boy was joined by others, and they began to jeer in chorus, and perform war-dances.
"There is a tax on dead men!" they screamed.