She was walking languidly on the terrace early the following morning,
when a hum of voices caught her ear; one name rivetted her attention:
a horrible conviction rushed upon her mind. She called a page, who at
first equivocated; but the truth was at last owned. The cardinal was
stricken with the plague. She signed to the page to leave her, and
sank for a moment against one of the columns. It was but for a moment.
She withdrew her hands from her face: it was pale, but tearless; and
she left the terrace for her chamber with a slow but firm step. Two
hours afterwards, the countess was sought by her attendants, but in
vain; a letter was found addressed to their master, and fastened by
one long, shining curl of raven darkness, which all knew to be hers.

Leaving the household to the dismay and confusion which such a
departure occasioned, we will follow the steps of the countess, who
was now on the road to Genoa. She had waited but to resume the black
serge dress, which, as a novice of St. Caterina's, she had worn, and
in which she knew she might pass for one of the sisters who had vowed
attendance on the sick; and, during the hour of the _siesta_, made her
escape unobserved. Giulietta had been from infancy accustomed to long
rambles by the sea-shore, or through the deep pine-forests; but now,
though her purpose gave her strength, she felt sadly weary; when, on
the almost deserted road, she overtook a man who was driving a small
cart laden with fruit and vegetables. She accosted him; and the offer
of a few piastres at once procured a conveyance to Genoa, for thither
was her companion bound.

"The plague," said he, "makes everything so scarce, that my garden has
brought me a little fortune; it is an ill wind that blows nobody
good."