When it was over and the women had covered her, Hugh and Dick left the
room, for they could bear no more.
"I have seen sad sights," said Hugh, with something like a sob, "but
never before one so sad."
"Ay," answered Dick, "that of the wounded dying on Crecy field was a May
Day revel compared to this, though it is but one old woman who has gone.
Oh, how heavily they parted who have dwelt together these forty years!
And 'twas my careless tongue this morning that foretold it as a jest!"
In the hall they met the physician, who rushed wild-eyed through the
doorway to ask how his patients fared.
"Ah!" he said to them in French when he knew. "Well, signors, that
noble lady has not gone alone. I tell you that scores of whom I know
are already dead in Venice, swept off by this swift and horrible plague.
Death and all his angels stalk through the city. They say that he
himself appeared last night, and this morning on the tilting ground
by the quay, and by God's mercy--if He has any left for us--I can well
believe it. The Doge and his Council but now have issued a decree that
all who perish must be buried at once. See to it, signors, lest the
officers come and bear her away to some common grave, from which her
rank will not protect her."
Then he went to visit Sir Geoffrey. Returning presently, he gave them
some directions as to his treatment, and rushed out as he had rushed in.
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