It was a tiny corner of the great valley that stretched in all directions around it--shut off, discreet, romantic, a garden of dreams, of enchantments, of illusions.

Outside there, far off, the great grim world went clashing through its grooves, but in here never an echo of the grinding of its wheels entered to jar upon the subdued modulation of the fountain's uninterrupted murmur.
Sarria and Vanamee found their way to a stone bench against the side wall of the Mission, near the door from which they had just issued, and sat down, Sarria lighting a cigar, Vanamee rolling and smoking cigarettes in Mexican fashion.
All about them widened the vast calm night.

All the stars were out.

The moon was coming up.

There was no wind, no sound.