Roma's labouring breath seemed to be arrested at that moment.
"On several occasions he brought their masters to justice in the English courts, until, finding they were watched, they gradually became less cruel. He opened his house to the poor little fellows, and they came for light and warmth between nine and ten at night, bringing their organs with them. He taught them to read, and on Sunday evenings he talked to them of the lives of the great men of their country. He is dead, but his spirit is alive—alive in the souls he made to live."
Roma's eyes were blinded with the tears that sprang to them, and her throat was choking, but she said:
"What was he?"
"A doctor."
"What was his name?"
David Rossi passed his hand over the furrow in his forehead, and answered:
"They called him Joseph Roselli."
Roma half rose from her seat, then sank back, and the lace handkerchief dropped from her hand.
"But I heard afterwards—long afterwards—that he was a Roman noble, one of the fearless few who had taken up poverty and exile and an unknown name for the sake of liberty and justice."