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ARIADNE. 231The people came there and stood there inlargeqidet crowds, at thnes weeping and waihng,foraU Rome had honoured him.His charities had been liberal as the fragranceof the summer, and the young and the oldmourned one with another, saying, ' to be inneed was to be his friend: ' but neither thelamentation of the people nor the song of thenightingales could reach the ear that was deaf forthe first time to then- sorrow and to then- song.He was dead: and HUarion had killed him.Isaid it over and over to myself, again andagain and again, kneelingon the thresholdof theroom by the side of Giulio: and stiUit seemedto meimpossible ; stUl it seemed to me that,ifindeed it were so, the earth must stand stUl, andthe sun cease to rise.The hghts burnedaround thebier; the shutterswere closed; the nightingales — sang without, wecould hear them; in her own chamber his—mother sat and told her beads and said"Dead? Nay, never! God is too good forthat."Idid not know how time went.Iseemed to