It was night, they were tired of wandering about, and entered one of the numerous cafes which had been temporarily erected in celebration of the day.  In the center of the Grande Place a stage was built for dancing, and when the band played its liveliest tunes the bright-eyed dancers swept round in admirable time; the variegated lamps which hung around the square checkered the pavement with every variety of hue, cast such a glory on the fountain that its outline was worked as it were with threads of gold.  All these different colors and shapes were reflected in the rippling waves of the ever-rolling waters.  Youths in the gayest dresses strutted away their proud hour of triumph with that graceful vanity of pretension which youth so well becomes, or flirted with the tender maidens, who in silver-laced bodice and scarlet skirt, with their brows encircled with interwoven wild flowers, sat round the brink of the fountain, where the murmurs of the ever-falling waters could best conceal the murmurs of love.  And above all this gorgeous tumult and bright excitement the moon from her throne of silver clouds rose like a virgin queen; the bold architecture of the Dom stood in clear relief, some parts as though sculptured out of heaven’s light, while the depths of the arches were buried in mysterious shade, emblematic of the faith to which it was dedicated,—­in part clear to the fresh comprehension of the youngest child, and again full of deep and fathomless mysteries.  Athwart the flood of light which filled the square, the deep shade of this noble Dom was thrown, like the dark visions of the future which sometimes fall upon the heart in its hours of brightest enjoyment.  If one had stood that night on the lofty tower and looked forth on the vast multitude, he need not, Asmodeus-like, have unroofed the houses to read the history of human life or the passions of the human heart, for life and passion had gone forth that night from many a tranquil abode to revel in publicity.  One so standing above the wild hum of tumultuous enjoyment would in silent thought have marveled at the strange drama performing as it were at his feet,—­the sad and fearful mixture of the shadows and lights of life and death, the market-place, and close at hand the burial-ground.  Talk of contemplation in the wild solitudes of the country, how much more is there room for contemplation in the crowded mart and the bustling thoroughfare!  Where is the river whose current is so rapid as the current of life, or at time so dangerous and treacherous?  Where is the tide whose ebb and flow is so uncertain as the ebb and flow of existence?  Where are to be found winds and waves more boisterous than those which agitate the human heart?  Where is the shore so strewn with wrecks as the heart with the broken memorials of passion which may have long since swept over it?  If Nature in its solitude affords calm enjoyment, in its human development it affords matter for deeper thought; if the view from the mountain-top, extending over hill and dale, expand the mind, to stand above the wild tumult of a town equally exalts the imagination and conveys knowledge, even while it compels the gazer to pass out of himself.