Already lights were beginning to shine, as for thirty centuries they had shone; thin straight skeins of smoke were ascending against the darkening sky.

The hum of this Mother of cities was beginning to be still, for the keen air kept folks indoors; and the evening peace was descending that closed another day and another year.
Beneath in the narrow streets Percy could see tiny figures, hurrying like belated ants; the crack of a whip, the cry of a woman, the wail of a child came up to this immense elevation like details of a murmur from another world.

They, too, would soon be quiet, and there would be peace.
A heavy bell beat faintly from far away, and the drowsy city turned to murmur its good-night to the Mother of God.

From a thousand towers came the tiny melody, floating across the great air spaces, in a thousand accents, the solemn bass of St.Peter's, the mellow tenor of the Lateran, the rough cry from some old slum church, the peevish tinkle of convents and chapels--all softened and made mystical in this grave evening air--it was the wedding of delicate sound and clear light.
Above, the liquid orange sky; beneath, this sweet, subdued ecstasy of bells.
"_Alma Redemptoris Mater_," whispered Percy, his eyes wet with tears.
"_Gentle Mother of the Redeemer--the open door of the sky, star of the sea--have mercy on sinners.

_The Angel of the Lord announced it to Mary, and she conceived of the Holy Ghost_....