The scene was like hot iron to Wilfrid's senses. When he heard her
coolly asking him for his handkerchief to blind him, he had forgotten the
purpose, and gave it mechanically. Nothing was uttered throughout the
long mountings and descent of stairs. They passed across one corridor
where the walls told of a humming assemblage of men within. A current of
keen air was the first salute Wilfrid received from the world above; his
handkerchief was loosened; he stood foolish as a blind man, weak as a
hospital patient, on the steps leading into a small square of visible
darkness, and heard the door shut behind him. Rinaldo led him from the
court to the street.

"Farewell," he said. "Get some housing instantly; avoid exposure to the
air. I leave you."

Wilfrid spent his tongue in a fruitless and meaningless remonstrance.
"And you?" he had the grace to ask.

"I go straight to find a priest. Farewell."

So they parted.




CHAPTER XXX

EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR

THE FIVE DAYS OF MILAN