A pair of haggard, ill-conditioned young vagabonds were playing at cards, fixing one another in the pauses with a look of tigerish eagerness.

The woman of the inn, corpulent to obesity, carried in her arms a child which she rocked heavily to and fro.
While Elena drank the water out of a rude earthenware mug, the woman, with wails and plaints, drew her attention to the wretched infant.
'Look, signora mia--look at it!' The poor little creature was wasted to a skeleton, its lips purple and broken out, the inside of its mouth coated with a white eruption.

It looked as if life had abandoned the miserable little body, leaving but a little substance for fungoid growths to flourish in.
'Feel, dear lady,--its hands are icy cold.

It cannot eat, it cannot drink--it does not sleep any more----' The mother broke into loud sobs.

The ague-stricken men looked on with eyes full of utter prostration, while the sound of the weeping only drew an impatient movement from the two youths.
'Come away--come away!' said Andrea, taking Elena by the arm and dragging her away, after throwing a piece of money on the table.
They returned over the bridge.