Soon he found himself beside a sentinel who, with a good-humoured jest, made way for him that he might watch the aristos.

Armand leaned against the grating, and his every sense was concentrated in that of sight.
At first he could scarcely distinguish one woman from another amongst the crowd that thronged the courtyard, and the close ironwork hindered his view considerably.

The women looked almost like phantoms in the grey misty air, gliding slowly along with noiseless tread on the flag-stones.
Presently, however, his eyes, which mayhap were somewhat dim with tears, became more accustomed to the hazy grey light and the moving figures that looked so like shadows.

He could distinguish isolated groups now, women and girls sitting together under the colonnaded arcades, some reading, others busy, with trembling fingers, patching and darning a poor, torn gown.

Then there were others who were actually chatting and laughing together, and--oh, the pity of it! the pity and the shame!--a few children, shrieking with delight, were playing hide and seek in and out amongst the columns.
And, between them all, in and out like the children at play, unseen, yet familiar to all, the spectre of Death, scythe and hour-glass in hand, wandered, majestic and sure.
Armand's very soul was in his eyes.