Never in his life, perhaps, had Franz ever felt such a sharply defined and rapid transformation from merriment to sadness as he did at that moment. You would have thought that Rome, under the magic wand of some demon of the night, had changed into one vast tomb. By an eventuality which added to the blackness of the night, the moon was waning and not due to rise until eleven o'clock, so the streets through which the young man walked were plunged in utter darkness. But the journey was short. In ten minutes his carriage -- that is to say, the count's -- stopped at the Hôtel de Londres.

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