Then again that sad, tender little song returned, no longer beseeching but full of pity, of a pity comprehending all his bitter struggle, the sorrowing pity of some unknown spirit that was also suffering and complaining of God, but humbly, gently, pleading for all that suffers and loves in the world.
The carriage stopped at a cross-way, and the footman got down from the box and approached the window.

It seemed that neither he nor the coachman knew exactly where this Villa Mayda was.

On the right, a narrow lane sloped down between two walls.

Behind the higher one, on the left, huge black trees rustled loudly in the west wind, which had torn the clouds asunder.

In the background, the Janiculum and St.Peter's loomed black in the pale starlight.