The bier was set down before this niche, which was lined with myrtle sprigs, and had little lace bags filled with spices in the corners. There were two silver rings inside attached to cords, one at the head and one at the foot.
As Tacita entered, she saw the father lift his child and lay her in her fragrant bed, and the mother place a pillow under her head. They crossed her hands on her breast, and slipped one of the silver rings on to a wrist and the other over the slender foot. They had been weeping loudly; but when, their service done, they stood and looked at the peaceful and lovely sleeper, something of her quiet came over them. They gazed fixedly, as if their souls were groping after hers, or as if the wall of her silence and immobility were not altogether impenetrable, and intent, with hushed breathing, they could catch some sense of a light fuller than that of the sun, and of sweet sounds, beautiful scenes and loving companionship in what had seemed a void, and of nearness where infinite distances had been straining at their heart-strings.
Tacita laid her bunch of white roses at the child’s feet. Then Elena led her down the corridor and pointed to a name inscribed on the marble of a closed niche. It was her father’s.
She kissed the marble, and stood thinking; then turned away. “God keep him!” she said. “I cannot find him here.”
At the end of the corridor, in the centre of the wall, was an open niche, all white marble, with a gilded cross lying in it, and so many little bags of spices that all the neighborhood was perfumed by them.
This niche was called “The Resurrection;” and at every funeral the mourners brought their tribute of perfumes to it.
Elena drew her companion’s attention to the niches around this open tomb. “You see how small they are. They are all young infants. It is the same in all the corridors. The end where the tomb of Christ is, is called the cemetery of the Innocents.”
Outside, in the gallery, a choir was softly singing:—
“Thou who didst weep!”
“We will go now,” Elena whispered.