All ran to his side; but again the treasure proved naught; the great man's marble fragment was only an ordinary stone. They had all deserted Grillo, who, openly humiliated, was digging alone by the light of a broken lantern.
The wind had fallen and the air grew warmer: out of the Humid Hollow exhaled a mist. The breath of primroses and violets mingled with the dankness of stagnant water. Dawn was in the sky, and the cocks crowed for the second time, signal of the departing of night.
Suddenly from the depths of the pit in which Grillo was concealed there arose a despairing yell.
'Help! Help! I am falling! The ground has given way!'
His lantern was extinguished, and at first nothing could be seen. He was heard struggling and panting, groaning and moaning. Lights were fetched, and disclosed the roof of a subterranean vault broken through by Grillo's weight. Two lads crept into the hole.
'Eh, Grillo! Where are you? Give us your hand! or are you buried alive, poor fool?'
But Grillo seemed to have lost his voice. Heedless of a sprained arm, he dragged himself along, kicking and struggling most strangely. At last he burst into an ecstasy:—
'An idol! An idol! Hasten, Messer Cipriano! 'tis a magnificent idol!'
'Idiot,' said Strocco, 'you have got the head of another horse.'
'I tell you, No! There is but a hand missing. The rest is perfect—feet, head, shoulders!' shouted Grillo beside himself.