Jefferson writing letters, and
strolled back into the old town.
Almost before he was aware of it he found himself in the little square
before the great Cathedral. With a sudden impulse he entered and leaned
against one of the fretted columns. A chorister was practising softly in
the transept overhead. 'Twas the _benedictus_ from one of Mozart's
masses.
"_Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini_," he sang over and over again.
Calvert could not see the singer, but the young voice floated downward,
reminding him of his own boyish voice. He closed his eyes and bowed his
head against the cold stone. When he could stand it no longer, he went
softly down the echoing aisle of the church, out through the great
doors, into the yellow sunshine of the deserted little street. There
were some linden-trees planted in a hollow square before the parvis of
the Cathedral, and stone benches set beneath them. Upon one of these he
sank down, as if physically weary. Perhaps he was--at any rate, a
sudden, sick disgust for everything, for the melancholy afternoon
sunshine and the yellowing grass and blighted flowers, took possession
of him.
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