Ah! how he would have liked to hide himself and weep at his ease! His heart melted at each fresh thought.

The pitiful death of the lovers intensified the grievous feeling with which his book was instinct, and impelled him to yet greater compassion, a perfect anguish of charity for all who suffered in the world.

And he was so distracted by the thought of the many physical and moral sores of Paris and of Rome, where he had beheld so much unjust and abominable suffering, that at each step he took he feared lest he should burst into sobs with arms upstretched towards the blackness of heaven.
In the hope of somewhat calming himself he began to walk slowly across the Piazza of St.Peter's, now all darkness and solitude.

On arriving he had fancied that he was losing himself in a murky sea, but by degrees his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness.

The vast expanse was only lighted by the four candelabra at the corners of the obelisk and by infrequent lamps skirting the buildings which run on either hand towards the Basilica.
Under the colonnade, too, other lamps threw yellow gleams across the forest of pillars, showing up their stone trunks in fantastic fashion; while on the piazza only the pale, ghostly obelisk was at all distinctly visible.