XXXV
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WHENitwasnightandthepiazzadeserted,AndreaandIandtheoldstewardwentoutandmadeourwaytotheplacewherethehorriblecorpsewaslying.Wewrappeditinalongblackclothandtookitupsilently,bearingittothechurchwhereforgenerationstheOrsihadbeenburied.Adark-robedmonkmetusinthenaveandledthewaytoadoor,whichheopenedthen,asiffrightened,leftus.Wefoundourselvesinthecloisters.Welaidthebodydownunderanarchandadvancedintothecentre,wherewasaplotofgreenscatteredoverwithlittlecrosses.Wetookspadesandbegantodigathinraindrizzleddownandthegroundwasstiffandclayey.ItwashardworkandIsweatedItookoffmycoatandallowedtheraintofallonmeunprotectedIwassoonwettotheskin.SilentlyAndreaandIturnedupthesoil,whilePietro,beneaththecloisters,watchedbythebodyandprayed.Wewerekneedeepnow,andstillwethrewupheavyspadefulsofclay.AtlastIsaid,—
