And it was himself, his soul and his brain, which lay among the ruins.
Pierre was stifling.

He rose, threw the window overlooking the Tiber wide open, and leant out.

The rain had begun to fall again at the approach of evening, but now it had once more ceased.

The atmosphere was very mild, moist, even oppressive.

The moon must have arisen in the ashen grey sky, for her presence could be divined behind the clouds which she illumined with a vague, yellow, mournful light.