And at last, in the bright starlight, appeared the gate, an arch of the Acqua Felice, under which the road passed.

From a distance, this fragment seemed to bar the way with its mass of ancient half-fallen walls.

But afterwards the gigantic arch where all was black opened like a gaping porch.

And the carriage passed under it in darkness whilst the wheels rumbled with increased sonority.
When the victoria emerged on the other side, Santobono still had the little basket of figs upon his knees and Prada looked at it, quite overcome, asking himself what sudden paralysis of the hands had prevented him from seizing it and throwing it into the darkness.

Such had still been his intention but a few seconds before they passed under the arch.
He had even given the basket a final glance in order that he might the better realise what movements he should make.