She opened the door wide and showed the court covered with straw, on which lay four or five sick people, while some little children crawled or sat on it at their ease—tiny pale creatures, biting straws and gurgling.
“If you will come in,” said Romola, tremulously, “I will find you a comfortable place, and bring you some more food.”
“No, I will not come in,” said Baldassarre. But he stood still, arrested by the burden of impressions under which his mind was too confused to choose a course.
“Can I do nothing for you?” said Romola. “Let me give you some money that you may buy food. It will be more plentiful soon.”
She had put her hand into her scarsella as she spoke, and held out her palm with several grossi in it. She purposely offered him more than she would have given to any other man in the same circumstances. He looked at the coins a little while, and then said—
“Yes, I will take them.”
She poured the coins into his palm, and he grasped them tightly.
“Tell me,” said Romola, almost beseechingly. “What shall you—”
But Baldassarre had turned away from her, and was walking again towards the bridge. Passing from it, straight on up the Via del Fosso, he came upon the shop of Niccolò Caparra, and turned towards it without a pause, as if it had been the very object of his search. Niccolò was at that moment in procession with the armourers of Florence, and there was only one apprentice in the shop. But there were all sorts of weapons in abundance hanging there, and Baldassarre’s eyes discerned what he was more hungry for than for bread. Niccolò himself would probably have refused to sell anything that might serve as a weapon to this man with signs of the prison on him; but the apprentice, less observant and