“Why, thou wouldst not have us hold the same home with three of the dead in the next chamber—­strangers too to us—­when Florence has so many empty halls?  Trust me, we shall not walk far ere we suit ourselves with a safer lodgment.”

“Hitherto, indeed, we have been miraculously preserved,” sighed the other, whose voice and shape were those of extreme youth; “yet would that we knew where to fly—­what mount, what wood, what cavern, held my brother and his faithful Nina!  I am sick with horrors!”

“Irene, Irene!  Well then, if thou art at Milan or some Lombard town, why do I linger here?  To horse, to horse!  Oh, no! no!—­not the horse with the bells! not the death-cart.”  With a cry, a shriek, louder than the loudest of the sick man’s, broke that young female away from her companion.  It seemed as if a single step took her to the side of Adrian.  She caught his arm—­she looked in his face—­she met his unconscious eyes bright with a fearful fire.  “It has seized him!”—­(she then said in a deep but calm tone)—­“the Plague!”

“Away, away! are you mad?” cried her companion; “hence, hence,—­touch me not now thou hast touched him—­go!—­here we part!”

“Help me to bear him somewhere, see, he faints, he droops, he falls!—­help me, dear Signora, for pity, for the love of God!”

But, wholly possessed by the selfish fear which overcame all humanity in that miserable time, the elder woman, though naturally kind, pitiful, and benevolent, fled rapidly away, and soon vanished.  Thus left alone with Adrian, who had now, in the fierceness of the fever that preyed within him, fallen on the ground, the strength and nerve of that young girl did not forsake her.  She tore off the heavy mantle which encumbered her arms, and cast it from her; and then, lifting up the face of her lover—­for who but Irene was that weak woman, thus shrinking not from the contagion of death?—­she supported him on her breast, and called aloud and again for help.  At length the Becchini, in the booth before noticed, (hardened in their profession, and who, thus hardened, better than the most cautious, escaped the pestilence,) lazily approached—­“Quicker, quicker, for Christ’s love!” said Irene.  “I have much gold; I will reward you well:  help me to bear him under the nearest roof.”

“Leave him to us, young lady:  we have had our eye upon him,” said one of the gravediggers.  “We’ll do our duty by him, first and last.”

“No—­no! touch not his head—­that is my care.  There, I will help you; so,—­now then,—­but be gentle!”

Assisted by these portentous officers, Irene, who would not release her hold, but seemed to watch over the beloved eyes and lips, (set and closed as they were,) as if to look back the soul from parting, bore Adrian into a neighbouring house, and laid him on a bed; from which Irene (preserving as only women do, in such times, the presence of mind and vigilant providence which make so sublime a contrast with their keen susceptibilities)