CHAPTER V.
HOLY WEEK IN ROME.
It was evening when the travellers reached Rome.

They had accomplished the journey in the time promised by Manasseh, and now the query was raised, could their enemy, by any possibility, have outstripped them?
Upon the coachman's inquiring to what hotel he should take his passengers, Gabriel Zimandy drew out his memorandum-book and read the name of a house recommended to him by his landlord at Vienna.

European innkeepers, be it observed, join together in a sort of fraternity for mutual aid in a business way, passing their guests along from city to city and from hand to hand, sometimes even providing them with letters of introduction.
The cards of the hotel in question bore the important announcement, "German is spoken here;" and this was an advantage not to be despised.
"You will come with us, won't you ?" said the advocate, turning with a courteous bow to Manasseh.
"Where German is spoken?
No, I thank you.

If I announce myself as a Hungarian, they will kiss my hand and then charge the kiss on the bill; if I say I am a German, I shall get a drubbing and be charged for that, too.

I prefer to hunt up a modest little inn where, when I register from Transylvania, the good people will think it is somewhere in America, perhaps in the neighbourhood of Pennsylvania.