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was singing, in a voice above all the rest, and with

heart-rending hilarity, one of the popular songs of love, gay and

playful, which the Milanese call villanelle.

Already weary, and confounded at the view of so much misery

concentrated within so small a space, our poor Renzo reached the

gate of the lazaretto. He crossed the threshold, and stood for a

moment motionless under the portico.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

The reader may imagine the lazaretto, peopled with sixteen

thousand persons infected with the plague: the vast enclosure was

encumbered with cabins, tents, cars, and human beings. Two long

ranges of porticoes, to the right and left, were crowded with the

dying or the dead, extended upon straw; and from the immense

receptacle of woe, was heard a deep murmur, similar to the

distant voice of the waves, agitated by a tempest.