Very slowly a few stragglers came in sight, then more, and then by degrees a great dark crowd of awestruck people were collected together and stood afar off, fearing to come near, lest the ruins should still continue falling.  Presently the door of the hospital opened and a party of men in gray blouses, headed by three or four gentlemen in black coats—­one indeed was in his shirt sleeves—­ emerged into the silent street and went straight towards the scene of the disaster.  They carried lanterns and a couple of stretchers such as are used for bearing the wounded.  It chanced that the straight line they followed from the door did not lead them to where the girl was lying, and it was not until after a long and nearly fruitless search that they turned back.  Two soldiers only, and both dead, could they find to bring back.  The rest were buried far beneath, and it would be the work of many hours to extricate the bodies, even with a large force of men.

As the little procession turned sadly back, they found that the crowd had advanced cautiously forward and now filled the street.  In the foremost rank a little circle stood about a dark object that lay on the ground, curious, but too timid to touch it.

“Signor Professore,” said one man in a low voice, “there is a dead woman.”

The physicians came forward and bent over the body.  One of them shook his head, as the bright light of the lantern fell on her face while he raised the girl from the ground.

“She is a lady,” said one of the others in a low voice.

The men brought a stretcher and lifted the girl’s body gently from the ground, scarcely daring to touch her, and gazing anxiously but yet in wonder at the white face.

When she was laid upon the coarse canvas there was a moment’s pause.  The crowd pressed closely about the hospital men, and the yellow light of the lanterns was reflected on many strange faces, all bent eagerly forward and down to get a last sight of the dead girl’s features.

“Andiamo,” said one of the physicians in a quiet sad voice.  The bearers took up the dead Zouaves again, the procession of death entered the gates of the hospital, and the heavy doors closed behind like the portals of a tomb.

The crowd closed again and pressed forward to the ruins.  A few gendarmes had come up, and very soon a party of labourers was at work clearing away the lighter rubbish under the lurid glare of pitch torches stuck into the crevices and cracks of the rent walls.  The devilish deed was done, but by a providential accident its consequences had been less awful than might have been anticipated.  Only one-third of the mine had actually exploded, and only thirty Zouaves were at the time within the building.

“Did you see her face, Gaetano?” asked a rough fellow of his companion.  They stood together in a dark corner a little aloof from the throng of people.

“No, but it must have been she.  I am glad I have not that sin on my soul.”