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ARIADNE. 233and white, and the nightingales were frightenedand dumb : thenIknew that the end wascome.Istumbled out by the side of Giulio,and togetherwe went down the green garden paths,under the boughs, over the faUen orange flowersthat were hke snow upon the ground: for thelast time we foUowed him.His fellow sculptors bore his paU, and theyouths of the ATilla Medici were his firstmourners. Behind them were the crowds ofRome, the Ulustrious and the beggar side byside.Thus was his body borne down the GoldenHiU for evermore, over the bridge, across thewater,hi the hush of the night, and out of thecity gates, beyond the waUs, to the burial-groundby San Lorenzo.Ihad so little sense left in me, so little consciousness,save thatIwas alive, and stumbledon in the midst of the multitudes, with thethousands of flaming torches, and the tenthousand stars of fight that even the pooresthand had found means to carry there, amidst the