Jamming the worsted slippers on Flo’s bare feet, Patty gave her one more shake and succeeded in fully wakening her.
They went to Flo’s window, and opening the blinds, stepped out on the little balcony.
It was a perfect night. Although the first of October, it was warm and balmy, and the great full moon cast a golden glow on the smooth water of the Arno.
The four men who were singing wore picturesque Italian costumes, and their broad-brimmed hats, turned up with feathers, gave the effect of a comic opera chorus.
The bright moonlight made the shadows of the people clear and distinct along the white road, and the river, with the buildings rising on its other bank, was a perfect background.
“Isn’t it great!” whispered Patty, squeezing Flo’s arm. “Do you suppose it’s our Italian friend that we met on the train?”
“No, you goose,” said Flo, laughing. “This isn’t a serenade especially for us. They’re professional singers, and they’re serenading the whole hotel. See the other people on their balconies.”
Sure enough every room in the hotel that had its own balcony showed its occupants standing out there to enjoy the music. And windows that had no balconies were thrown wide open, and faces appeared at each.
“Well,” said Patty, “this is a nice country, where the opera singers give free concerts at midnight.”
“They’re not entirely free,” said Flo, who seemed to know more about the matter than Patty. “Observe what now happens.”