It was toward the beginning of September that this happened; the air was warm, the flowers planted by friends around the tombs scattered their delicate perfume, and the moon, rising above the white clouds, began to shed her silver light over all.

Whether it were the place, or her own dignity, I know not, but this woman seemed to me like a marble statue, and impressed me with a strange respect.

I looked at her earnestly.

She bent over the seat, enveloping it in her arms, placed her lips to it, and soon I saw her shoulders heave with such sobs as you never heard, my brother.

As she wept she kissed the stone with ardor; her tears had troubled me, but her kisses maddened me." "But, by the pope, it is she who is mad, to kiss a stone and sob for nothing." "Oh! it was a great grief that made her sob, a profound love which made her kiss the stone.