savage than the rest; and enquired of him the street and the house of Don Ferrante. He replied, "The first street to the right, the last hotel to the left."
The young man hastened thither, with new and deeper trouble at his heart. Easily distinguishing the house, he approached the door, raised his hand to the knocker, and held it suspended awhile, before he could summon resolution to knock.
At the sound, a window was half opened, and a female appeared at it, looking towards the door with a countenance which appeared to ask, "Is it monatti? thieves? or poisoners?"
"Signora," said Renzo, but in a tremulous voice, "is there not here in service a young villager of the name of Lucy?"
"She is no longer here; begone," replied the woman, about to close the window.
"A moment, I beseech you. She is no longer here! Where is she?"
"At the lazaretto."
"A moment, for the love of Heaven! With the pestilence?"
"Yes. It is something very uncommon, is it not? Begone then."
"Wait an instant. Was she very ill? Is it long since?"
But this time the window was closed entirely.
"Oh! signora, signora! one word, for charity! Alas! alas! one word!" But he might as well have talked to the wind.
Afflicted by this intelligence, and vexed with the rude treatment of the woman, Renzo seized the knocker again, and raised it for the purpose of striking. In his distress, he turned to look at the neighbouring houses, with the hope of seeing some one, who would give him more satisfactory information. But the only person he discovered, was a woman, about twenty paces off, who, with an appearance of terror, anger, and impatience, was making signs to some one to approach; and this she did, as if not wishing to attract Renzo's notice. Perceiving him looking at her, she shuddered with horror.
