Gazing at these, and almost with interest for one whose mind was as troubled as hers, she perceived that, of the galley slaves, one had drawn away from the group, and, approaching the base of the fountain, had sat down upon it near her and on the other side from that on which the carman whom she had accompanied was sitting. An old criminal this; a man of nearly sixty, grey and grizzled, and with a frosty bristling on his unshaven chin and cheeks and upper lip. A man who sat with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, staring in front of him--at a house numbered 77.
"What do they do?" Marion asked of this staring man, while looking round at him and noticing how worn and white he was, "and why are these carts piled with bricks and mortar? What is it?"
"They brick up the houses that are infected; those in which the dead lie. Those that are the worst."
"But--but--supposing there should be any living left in them. See, they have commenced there, at 76, and without entering to make inspection. That would be even more terrible than all else."
"The inspection has been made. The houses are marked already. Observe, there is a chalk mark. Regard No. 76, at which the masons work."
"By whom has the inspection been made?"
"By me and another," the convict answered, turning his white and ghastly face on her. "Three hours ago, this morning. At daybreak."
"All are not marked."
"No, all are not marked. Not--yet!" Ere she could, however, ask more, one of the officers strode towards where they sat near together, and, addressing the convict, who sprang respectfully to his feet, said:
"Have you thought, remembered yet, which is the house you had forgotten. Idiot that you are! to have thus forgotten. Reflect again. Recall the house. Otherwise we shall brick up one in which there are no dead to be left to decay in it."