His weakness could be accounted for, as his wandering had lasted long; the syncope could not be brief since nearly thirty hours must have transpired from his rush out of the variety music-hall.
Before him, for at his back stood the chapel for services, stretched out the vast cemetery.

Some of the cracked, dilapidated tombs dated back to 1600; others marked the addition in 1788 to the original God's-acre.

All was hushed; it was difficult to imagine a phantom where neglect seemed to rule.

It was not in this olden part that descendants of the departed flocked on All Saints' Day to decorate the mausoleums with evergreens, plaster images and artificial immortelle garlands.

Except for a screeching-sparrow, which his first steps dislodged, not a sign of life appeared in this town around which the living city slept as quietly.
His eyes clearing, he believed he descried the gateway and, sure that so large a _campo santo_ would have a warder in hourly attendance, he made his way, deviating as the tombs compelled, toward the entrance.