The voice fell silent, like the rustling of leaves when the wind drops.
The transparent shadow vanished away in the light of dawn, which
descended clear and white on the hills; and the tombs of San Giovanni
grew wan and silent once again in the morning air. And Messer Guido
pondered:

"The truth I foresaw, hath been made manifest to me. Is it not writ in
the Book the Priests use, 'Shall the dead praise Thee, O Lord?' The dead
are without thought or knowledge, and the divine Epicurus was well
advised when he enfranchised the living from the vain terrors of the
life to come."

A troop of horsemen pricking across the Piazza abruptly broke up his
meditations. It was Messer Betto and his Company away to hunt the cranes
along the brookside of Peretola.

"So ho!" cried one of them, whose name was Bocca, "see yonder, Messer
Guido the Philosopher, who scorns us for our good life and gentle ways
and merry doings. He seems half frozen."

"And well he may be," put in Messer Doria, who was reputed a wag. "His
lady, the Moon, whom he kisses tenderly all night, hath hied her behind
the hills to sleep with some shepherd swain. He is eat up with jealousy;
look you, how green he is!"

They spurred their horses among the tombs, and drew up in a ring about
Messer Guido.

"Nay! nay! Messer Doria," returned Bocca, "the lady Moon is too round