"That he was rich is nothing--rich and poor must die alike." "And that is true, very true," assented Pietro, with another groan, "for not all his property could save the blessed Cipriano." I started, but quickly controlled myself.
"What do you mean ?" I asked, as carelessly as I could.

"Are you talking of some saint ?" "Well, if he were not canonized he deserves to be," replied the landlord; "I speak of the holy Benedictine father who brought hither the Count Romani in a dying condition.

Ah I little he knew how soon the good God would call him himself!" I felt a sickening sensation at my heart.
"Is he dead ?" I exclaimed.
"Dead as the martyrs!" answered Pietro.

"He caught the plague, I suppose, from the count, for he was bending over him to the last.

Ay, and he sprinkled holy water over the corpse, and laid his own crucifix upon it in the coffin.