StillitwasthesamefacethatsomeeightmonthsbeforeI
hadseenliftedinentreatytoherfalselover。
Nowhertallshapewaswrappedaboutwithgraveclothesoverwhichherblackhairstreamed，andinherarmssheboreasleepingbabethatfromtimetotimeshepressedconvulsivelytoherbreast。
OnthethresholdofhertombIsabelladeSiguenzapausedandlookedroundwildlyasthoughforhelp，scanningeachofthesilentwatcherstofindafriendamongthem。
Thenhereyefelluponthenicheandtheheapofsmokinglimeandthemenwhoguardedit，andsheshudderedandwouldhavefallenhadnotthosewhoattendedherledhertothechairandplacedherinit——alivingcorpse。