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ARIADNE. 115Spring had come,Isay, and.nowhere is springmore beautiful thanhere inRome.The glad water sparkles and ripples everywhere;abovethe broad porphyry basins butterfliesof every colour flutter, and swallows fly;lovers and children swing balls of flowers, madeas onlyourRomans know how to make them;thewide lawns under the deep-shadowed avenues arefullof blossoms;the ah-is fidl of fragrance; thepalmsrise against a cloudless sky;the nights arelustrous;in the cool of the great galleries thestatues seem to smile;so spring had been to mealways;but now the season was without joy, andthe scent of the flowers on the wind hurt me asit smote mynostrils.For a great darkness seemed always betweenme and the sun, andIwondered that the birdscould sing, and the children run amongst theblossoms — the world being so vile.The spring brought no change to her; nochange could ever come; there was the pity ofit. She hved onmerely because he lived; shehad said the truth; she could not set the yawninggulf of the grave between herself and him;i 2