For ten days there had been no wind, and the transparent atmosphere, wary and sensitive, continued ever the same, motionless and unchanged.

It seemed as though it preserved in its transparent depths every cry and song made during those days by men and beasts and birds--tears, laments and cheerful song, prayers and curses--and that on account of these crystallised sounds the air was so heavy, threatening, and saturated with invisible life.

Once more the sun was sinking.

It rolled heavily downwards in a flaming ball, setting the sky on fire.

Everything upon the earth which was turned towards it: the swarthy face of Jesus, the walls of the houses, and the leaves of the trees--everything obediently reflected that distant, fearfully pensive light.