“What!” I cried; “you will nor try if you can save him?”

The Frenchman bowed with satirical suavity.

“Monsieur must pardon me!  My own health would be seriously endangered by touching a cholera corpse.  Allow me to wish monsieur the good-day!”

And he disappeared, shutting his door in my face.  I was thoroughly exasperated, and though the heat and the fetid odor of the sun-baked streets made me feel faint and sick, I forgot all danger for myself as I stood in the plague-stricken city, wondering what I should do next to obtain succor.  A grave, kind voice saluted my ear.

“You seek aid, my son?”

I looked up.  A tall monk, whose cowl partly concealed his pale, but resolute features, stood at my side—­one of those heroes who, for the love of Christ, came forth at that terrible time and faced the pestilence fearlessly, where the blatant boasters of no-religion scurried away like frightened hares from the very scent of danger.  I greeted him with an obeisance, and explained my errand.

“I will go at once,” he said, with an accent of pity in his voice.  “But I fear the worst.  I have remedies with me; I may not be too late.”

“I will accompany you,” I said, eagerly.  “One would not let a dog die unaided; much less this poor lad, who seems friendless.”

The monk looked at me attentively as we walked on together.

“You are not residing in Naples?” he asked.

I gave him my name, which he knew by repute, and described the position of my villa.

“Up on that height we enjoy perfect health,” I added.  “I cannot understand the panic that prevails in the city.  The plague is fostered by such cowardice.”

“Of course!” he answered, calmly.  “But what will you?  The people here love pleasure.  Their hearts are set solely on this life.  When death, common to all, enters their midst, they are like babes scared by a dark shadow.  Religion itself”—­here he sighed deeply—­“has no hold upon them.”

“But you, my father,” I began, and stopped abruptly, conscious of a sharp throbbing pain in my temples.

“I,” he answered, gravely, “am the servant of Christ.  As such, the plague has no terrors for me.  Unworthy as I am, for my Master’s sake I am ready—­nay, willing—­to face all deaths.”

He spoke firmly, yet without arrogance.  I looked at him in a certain admiration, and was about to speak, when a curious dizziness overcame me, and I caught at his arm to save myself from falling.  The street rocked like a ship at sea, and the skies whirled round me in circles of blue fire.  The feeling slowly passed, and I heard the monk’s voice, as though it were a long way off, asking me anxiously what was the matter.  I forced a smile.

“It is the heat, I think,” I said, in feeble tones like those of a very aged man.  “I am faint—­giddy.  You had best leave me here—­see to the boy.  Oh, my God!”