“She has gone to Valsassina, among her relatives at Pasturo; for they say that down there the pestilence has not made such ravages as it has here. But you, I say——”
“I am glad of that. And Father Christopher?”
“He has been gone this long time. But you——”
“I heard that,—but has he not returned?”
“Oh no, we have heard nothing of him. But you——”
“I am sorry for it.”
“But you, I say, what do you do here? For the love of Heaven, have you forgotten that little circumstance of the order for your apprehension?”
“What matters it? people have other things to think of now. I came here to see about my own affairs.”
“There is nothing to see about; there is no one here now. It is the height of rashness in you to venture here, with this little difficulty impending. Listen to an old man who has more prudence than yourself, and who speaks to you from the love he bears you. Depart at once, before any one sees you, return whence you came. Do you think the air of this place good for you? Know you not that they have been here on the search for you?”
“I know it too well, the rascals.”