close seclusion in which Romola’s trouble had kept her in the weeks preceding her flight and his arrest, had denied him the opportunity he had sought of seeing the Wife who lived in the Via de’ Bardi: and at this moment the descriptions he had heard of the fair golden-haired woman were all gone, like yesterday’s waves.
“Will it not be well to carry him to the steps of San Stefano?” said Romola. “We shall cease then to stop up the street, and you can go on your way with your bier.”
They had only to move onward for about thirty yards before reaching the steps of San Stefano, and by this time Baldassarre was able himself to make some efforts towards getting off the bier, and propping himself on the steps against the church-doorway. The charitable brethren passed on, but the group of interested spectators, who had nothing to do and much to say, had considerably increased. The feeling towards the old man was not so entirely friendly now it was quite certain that he was alive, but the respect inspired by Romola’s presence caused the passing remarks to be made in a rather more subdued tone than before.