Never before did Miriam
understand how many people could inhabit a single city. They passed them
by thousands and by tens of thousands, and still, far as the eye could
reach, stretched the white sea of faces. Ahead that sea would be quiet,
then, as the procession pierced it, it began to murmur. Presently
the murmur grew to a shout, the shout to a roar, and when the Caesars
appeared in their glittering chariots, the roar to a triumphant peal
which shook the street like thunder. And so on for miles and miles, till
Miriam's eyes were dim with the glare and glitter, and her head swam at
the ceaseless sound of shouting.
Often the procession would halt for a while, either because of a check
to one of the pageants in front, or in order that some of its members
might refresh themselves with drink which was brought to them. Then the
crowd, ceasing from its cheers, would make jokes, and criticise whatever
person or thing they chanced to be near. Greatly did they criticise
Miriam in this fashion, or at the least she thought so, who must
listen to it all. Most of them, she found, knew her by her name of
Pearl-Maiden, and pointed out to each other the necklace about her
throat. Many, too, had heard something of her story, and looked eagerly
at the picture of the gate Nicanor blazoned upon her breast.
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