As Balsamo had warned them, there was no time to lose. On the high road, commonly so peaceful, resounded a great tumult of coaches, horses and voices.
Three carriages stopped at the door, held open by Gilbert, whose distended eyes and feverish tremor denoted the sharpest emotion at so much magnificence. The principal coach, loaded with gilding and mythological carvings, was no less mud-spattered and dusty than the others.
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