Two or three men shivering with ague, morose
and jaundiced, were crouching round a square brazier. A red-haired
bullock-driver was snoring in a corner, his empty pipe still between his
teeth. 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.
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