But when she looked up and recognized
the little plate bearing the name at the corner, she turned a little
pale; something, she knew not what, was now so near.
And as she turned into this narrow and squalid little alley, it seemed
as if her eyes, through some excitement or other, observed the objects
around her with a strange intensity. She could remember each and every
one of them afterward--the fruit-sellers bawling, and the sellers of
acidulated drinks out-roaring them; the shoemakers already at work at
their open stalls; mules laden with vegetables; a negro monk, with his
black woolly head above the brown hood; a venerable letter-writer at a
small table, spectacles on nose and pen in hand, with two women
whispering to him what he was to write for them. She made her way up the
steep lane, through the busy, motley, malodorous crowd, until she
reached the corner pointed out to her by Calabressa.
But he had not told her which way to turn, and for a second or two she
stood in the middle of the crossing, uncertain and bewildered.
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