"I beg your pardon!… A bit rocky this morning…. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. Perhaps he had heard of this Enschede. As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. " "Well, that's fine.
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