Apart from the tap-tapping of the changing guard, the calm broke just once in the 50 minutes we watched the Queen lie in state.
A unshaven man in dark green, carrying his sleeping bag, cleared his throat uncertainly and said crisply: “Pleasure to see you, ma’am.” He turned and walked into the morning light.
It was striking because of the depth of silence in 240ft-long Westminster Hall, where two thick beige carpets muffled the steps of mourners who queued through the night.
One by one the mourners came, descending the stone steps lit by the lamps and the weak sun shining through the vast stained glass window.
The hundreds emitted no sound as they filed in three lines past the catafalque, topped with the coffin, Royal Standard and Imperial State Crown, glistening under the lit-up hammer beam roof.
Most bowed their heads or curtsied. Some did so briskly, walking on. Others put their bags on the floor so they could bow deeply and purposefully.
Many made the sign of the cross. A woman in a billowing union flag scarf blew a kiss. One saluted.
Most walked away slowly and paused by the the door but some - including a woman weeping, all in black - strode away briskly as if unable to take any more.
At 9am, after an all-night wait, some hobbled down the grand southern steps with a limp, clearly pained and oscillating from side to side.
The chummy air of the queue, where the Archbishop of Canterbury officiated in a yellow vest, had given way to solemnity and pain.
A woman in 60s or 70s appeared to struggle to stand, leaning with every step on a walking stick in her right hand and a folding chair in her left.
A man set his mobility scooter on its slowest speed and glided. A woman pushed a wheelchair as its occupant, a middle aged companion with blue hair, walked past the coffin on two crutches.
A woman in a bight white headscarf under her black coat held her two crutches, only walking on them again once she was past the coffin.
She kept stopping and glancing back, her blue eye shadow reflecting in the morning light.
Emotion was high in the room as the significance of the occasion was brought home to those there.
It was not obvious or stereotypical who would cry, and many did.
A young man in a white hoodie and trainers and beige coat, head down, looked like he’d wandered aimlessly off the carpet onto the stone floor.
When he lifted his head it was clear he was crying so much he could not keep walking in a straight line on the carpet.
Another young man with long hair bowed his head to hide his grief, his shoulders shaking as he walked past.
A bearded veteran had tears on his face, and a young man in hipster-thick black-rimmed glasses was weeping openly.
One woman clad in black clutched her hands to her mouth and chest almost involuntarily as she sobbed. Her bright pink nails - matching her wristband - were the only contrast with her clothes.
Many people came alone, including a woman who wore her OBE, the gold cross sparkling on its red ribbon.
Most were adults, but hardy children did emerge.
One exhausted dad lumbered slowly with a baby strapped to his chest, a small child on his right hand, and a pushchair on his left.
A shaggy-haired teenage boy walked unevenly on sore legs, drowned in a huge outdoor coat, his parents by his side. Another teenager had visible bags under his eyes.
A couple led their daughter, no older than four, each holding one of her little hands. She was wearing a pretty navy dress with a red bow to see the Queen.
A little girl wearing shiny patent black shoes and a pink backpack held her grandmother's hand as they walked past.
Another little girl, with blonde hair and a blue scarf with bobbles, held hands with her dad. He had to encourage her to look back, gently rubbing her back through her pink chequered coat.
Two girls in scouting uniforms, aged probably about 10, walked towards the door together as their mum pointed back at the queen’s coffin.
There were three queues, two one side and one the other, and Commons officials gently ushering people to keep moving along the line.
Four steps led to the catafalque, with four candles blazing brightly on the corners, and four of each type of guard from the Royal Household.
Faded plaques dedicated to the other lyings-in-state - including the Queen Mother in 2002 - were just visible on the floor, unnoticed by most of the mourners.
The carpet was already worn from the thousands walking over it since 5pm on Wednesday, with hundreds of thousands more to come.
It would have been difficult to know how fast time was going past if not for the changing of the guard. Every 20 minutes at 8.59am, 9.19am and 9.39am, a staff rapping on the floor punctured the silence, echoing through the cavernous chamber.
Slowly their boots clomped on the flagstones, gold details and spurs of their uniforms glistening, and the red, white and blue adornments on the Beefeaters’ shoes a splash of colour.
Briefly, a breeze picked up from the open north door and swan plumage fluttered into one guard’s face.
But the heart of the vigil was the real Brits, paying their tributes, no longer the pomp and ceremony.
Despite the long queues overnight, many had donned their finery as a show of respect to the late Queen.
A woman in full mourning dress including a funeral hat paused for a long time at the end to look back, dabbing her face with a tissue.
A very elderly couple were all in black, the woman in a crisp white blouse, one arm on her husband and another on a walking stick.
A number of military veterans wore their medals, some visibly upset as they left the hall.
A tearful woman bent the rules banning flags by wearing the Union Jack tied around her neck as a scarf. Another mourner clutched the flag around her shoulders as she wiped away her tears.
One woman wore a plastic Union Jack hat, perhaps bought to mark a happier occasion.
As one guards’ watch retreated up the steps, a man and a woman walked out either side of an elderly relative, clutching her on each side. The trio strode in perfect unison like the soldiers.
Others dressed more appropriately for an autumn night queueing on the South Bank.
A middle-aged man in a ‘hakuna matata’ T-shirt walked past the coffin, his key and umbrella dangling off the belt of his grey jeans.
One young man wore socks and sandals and a black KitBrix outdoor towelling robe, designed for triathletes.
One man wore shorts - despite the chilly night - and a long black coat over the top.
Another woman in a bright aquamarine dress wore a plastic tiara, and pushed a double pushchair with a stuffed toy corgi perched on top.
It is impossible to name one thing that has drawn so many people to pay their respects.
But one thing that united most of the mourners, as they filed slowly past the coffin towards the vast doors out onto New Palace Yard.
Before returning to the world, they paused for a moment to look back one last time.
