d man who died last night," said a nun in a low voice to
Constance, noticing her look of inquiry.

The silver crucifix shone fitfully ahead, while the chanting of the
priests, winding in and out after the holy symbol, fell upon the ear.
And the young girl gazed with pity as the remains of the Marquis de
Ligne, her father, were borne by.

Qui vivis et regnas. Glorificamus te.

CHAPTER XIII

AN INCONGRUOUS ROLE

Longer and longer trailed the shadow of a tall tombstone until, as the
sun went down, it merged into the general twilight like a life
lengthening out and out and finally blending in restful darkness. With
that transition came a sudden sense of isolation and loneliness; the
little burial ground seemed the world; the sky, its walls and
ceiling.

From the neighborhood of the gates had vanished the dusky venders,
trundling their booths and stalls citywards. As abruptly had
disappeared the bearers of flowers and artificial roses with baskets
poised upon their heads, imparting to their figures dignity and
erectness. The sad-eyed nuns had wended their way out of the little
kingdom of the departed, surrounded by the laughing children and
preceded by the priests and acolytes. All the sounds and activities of
the day--the merriment of the little ones, the oblations of the
priests, the greetings of friends--were followed by inertness and
languor. Motionless against the sky spread the branches of the trees,
like lines etched there; still were the clambering vines that clasped
monolith and column.

But suddenly that death-like lull in nature's animation and unrest was
abruptly broken, and an uproarious vociferation dispelled the
voiceless peace.

"For Jack ashore's a Croesus, lads,
With a Jill for every Jack--"

sang a hoarse voice as its owner came staggering along one of the
walks of the cemetery; for all his song, no blue-water sailor-man, but
a boisterous denizen of the great river, a raftsman or a keel-boatman,
who had somehow found himself in the burial ground and now was beating
aimlessly about. How this rollicking waif of the grog shop came to
wander so far from the convivial haunts of his kind and to choose this
spot for a ramble, can only be explained by the vagaries of
inebriety.

"With a Jill in your wake,
A fair port you'll make--"

he continued, when his eye fell upon the figure of a woman, some