"And as for what is wrong, it would soon be right if those shameless pigs," pointing to the beccamorti, "would let us alone.
They would kill a man rather than wait an hour--one little hour! The girl is dead, your majesty--and Giovanni, poor lad! will not leave her; he has his two arms round her tight--Holy Virgin!--think of it! and she a cholera corpse--and do what we can, he will not be parted from her, and they seek her body for the burial.

And if we force him away, poverino, he will lose his head for certain.

One little hour, your majesty, just one, and the reverend father will come and persuade Giovanni better than we can." The king raised his hand with a slight gesture of command--the little crowd parted before him--and he entered the miserable dwelling wherein lay the corpse that was the cause of all the argument.

His attendants followed; I, too, availed myself of a corner in the doorway.

The scene disclosed was so terribly pathetic that few could look upon it without emotion--Humbert of Italy himself uncovered his head and stood silent.
On a poor pallet bed lay the fair body of a girl in her first youth, her tender loveliness as yet untouched even by the disfiguring marks of the death that had overtaken her.