"Where is the procession going?" the Prince now asked.
"Look behind you—up along the front of the palace."
And casting his eyes thither, the questioner beheld the ground covered with a mass of men not there before.
"What are they doing?"
"Awaiting the Emperor. Only the third grand division is wanting now; when it is up His Majesty will appear."
"And descend to the Chapel?"
"Yes."
For a time a noise more like the continuous, steady monotone of falling water than a chant had been approaching from the valley, making its darkness vocal. It threatened the gates awhile; now it was at the gates. The Prince's wonder was great, and to appease it Father Theophilus explained:
"The last division is at hand."
In the dim red light over the area by the gate below, the visitor beheld figures hurriedly issuing from the night—figures in the distance so wild and fantastic they did not at first seem human. They left no doubt, however, whence the sound proceeded. The white sand of the road up the terraces was beaten to dust under the friction and pressure of the thousands of feet gone before; this third division raised it into an attending cloud, and the cloud and the noise were incessant.