He reached his little grass-grown terrace, and found it as sunny and as private as before.

The old mendicant was mumbling petitions, sacred and profane, at the church door; but save for this the stillness was unbroken.

The yellow sunshine warmed the brown surface of the city-wall, and lighted the hollows of the Etruscan hills.
Longueville settled himself on the empty bench, and, arranging his little portable apparatus, began to ply his brushes.

He worked for some time smoothly and rapidly, with an agreeable sense of the absence of obstacles.

It seemed almost an interruption when, in the silent air, he heard a distant bell in the town strike noon.