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"You need not be afraid of falling over the furniture. There is not much." "You seem partial to bare attics." "Ah! you are thinking of my room in the Vicolo dei Moribondi." "Yes!" he said as he came towards her from the door. "I cannot rest, I cannot forget. For God's sake tell me about the end! I have been to Siena since I heard, but I dared not ask too many questions.
She was quick to relent, and soon seemed to be herself again, and he kept his fever-bright eyes on her, watching her as in the old days men may have watched the stars as they waited for the dawn that was to see them pass by the Vicolo dei Moribondi.
The Vicolo dei Moribondi is the narrowest of all the steep stone-paved streets that lead from the upper town to the market-place of Siena, and the great red bulk of the Palazzo Pubblico overshadows it.
You wore evening dress, and I saw that emerald ring you have now on your finger. The next day you met my Cousin Gemma in my room in the Vicolo dei Moribondi. Do you remember the steep dark stairs and the white walls of the bare place where you saw her last?" He made no answer, and there was still a smile on his lips, but his eyes were hard.
Weighed down by chains they had gone reluctantly, dragging their feet upon their last journey, trying to listen to the priest's droning of prayers, or to see some friendly face in the crowd. The memory of old sorrows and torments lay heavy sometimes here on those who had eyes to see and ears to hear the things of the past, and Olive was often pitifully aware of the Moribondi.
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