On the Saturday, towards five o'clock, he came back once more, still hoping for better luck.
He left his house on foot.

The evening was chill and gray, and a heavy leaden twilight was settling over the city.

The lamps were already lighted round the fountain in the Piazza Barberini like pale tapers round a funeral bier, and the Triton, whether being under repair or for some other reason, had ceased to spout water.

Down the sloping roadway came a line of carts drawn by two or three horses harnessed in single file, and bands of workmen returning home from the new buildings.

A group of these came swaying along arm in arm, singing a lewd song at the pitch of their voices.
Andrea stopped to let them pass.