leave the body until it was carried out to the dead-cart. But with
such cases Cyril had nothing to do, as the doctor would only send him
to the houses where he saw that his instructions would be carried
out.

To his great satisfaction, Cyril found that the precautions taken in
the first case proved successful. Regularly, every morning, he
inquired at the door, and received the answer, "All are well."

In August the Plague greatly increased in violence, the deaths rising
to ten thousand a week. A dull despair had now seized the population.
It seemed that all were to be swept away. Many went out of their
minds. The quacks no longer drove a flourishing trade in their
pretended nostrums; these were now utterly discredited, for nothing
seemed of the slightest avail. Some went to the opposite extreme, and
affected to defy fate. The taverns were filled again, and boisterous
shouts and songs seemed to mock the dismal cries from the houses with
the red cross on the door. Robberies were rife. Regardless of the
danger of the pest, robbers broke into the houses where all the
inmates had perished by the Plague, and rifled them of their
valuables. The nurses plundered the dying. All natural affection
seemed at an end.

Those stricken were often deserted by all their relatives, and left
alone to perish.

Bands of reckless young fellows went through the streets singing,
and, dressing up in masks, performed the dance of death. The dead
were too many to be carried away in carts at night to the great pits
prepared for them, but the dismal tones of the bell, and the cries of