Nor was there a single corner for solitary reflection, a nook of gloom and mystery, where one might kneel and pray.

In lieu thereof the sumptuous, sovereign dazzlement of broad daylight prevailed upon every side.

And, on thus suddenly finding himself in this deserted opera-house, all aglow with flaring gold and purple, Pierre could but remember the quivering gloom of the Gothic cathedrals of France, where dim crowds sob and supplicate amidst a forest of pillars.

In presence of all this ceremonial majesty--this huge, empty pomp, which was all Body--he recalled with a pang the emaciate architecture and statuary of the middle ages, which were all Soul.

He vainly sought for some poor, kneeling woman, some creature swayed by faith or suffering, yielding in a modest half-light to thoughts of the unknown, and with closed lips holding communion with the invisible.