Siegmund did not mind it; it drummed out his own thoughts. He watched
the gleaming magic of the road, raced over with shadows, project itself
far before him into the night. He watched the people. Soldiers, belted
with scarlet, went jauntily on in front. There was a peculiar charm in
their movement. There was a soft vividness of life in their carriage; it
reminded Siegmund of the soft swaying and lapping of a poised
candle-flame. The women went blithely alongside. Occasionally, in
passing, one glanced at him; then, in spite of himself, he smiled; he
knew not why. The women glanced at him with approval, for he was ruddy;
besides, he had that carelessness and abstraction of despair. The eyes
of the women said, 'You are comely, you are lovable,' and
Siegmund smiled.

When the street opened, at Westminster, he noticed the city sky, a
lovely deep purple, and the lamps in the square steaming out a vapour of
grey-gold light.

'It is a wonderful night,' he said to himself. 'There are not two such
in a year.' He went forward to the Embankment, with a feeling of elation in his
heart. This purple and gold-grey world, with the fluttering flame-warmth
of soldiers and the quick brightness of women, like lights that clip
sharply in a draught, was a revelation to him.

As he leaned upon the Embankment parapet the wonder did not fade, but
rather increased. The trams, one after another, floated loftily over the
bridge. They went like great burning bees in an endless file into a
hive, past those which were drifting dreamily out, while below, on the
black, distorted water, golden serpents flashed and twisted to and fro.