At eight o'clock each evening she left her sitting-room and sofa, and was in bed.
Yet she trusted that when she could venture again into the open air she would be more capable of enduring the friction of the world.

In May she felt stronger, and saw visitors, among whom was Hans Andersen, "very earnest, very simple, very childlike."[82] A little later she was cast down by the death of Cavour--"that great soul which meditated and made Italy"; she could hardly trust herself to utter his name.

It was evident to Browning that the journey to France could not be undertaken without serious risk.

They had reached Casa Guidi, and there for the present she must take her rest.
The end came swiftly, gently.

A bronchial attack, attended with no more than the usual discomfort, found her with diminished power of resistance.