“Ah! your note to me,” he said—“it was that. Oh! isn’t it fun? I told you it would be! And they took the horses out and dragged me, the darlings!”
The agitated proprietor tapped and entered, and a short conference ensued. The upshot was that if the high-born would of his graciousness show himself or sing on the balcony, all would be well, otherwise the inhabitants of the hotel might have a night that began very late. If the high-born gave permission, the proprietor would announce the fact.
“But I’m so hungry!” said Hugh.
The proprietor had been present at the opera.
“I beseech you!” he said.
“Yes, Hugh,” said Edith.
“Then you will come with me?” asked Hugh.
Ah! but how the summer sun blazed then. She but nodded to him, and with a reverence of extraordinary amplitude to them both, the proprietor shouted a few guttural words from the balcony. Then he bowed and came back into the room.
Hugh took Edith’s arm.
“Together,” he said; and together they went out on to the balcony. The night was windless, and the flame of the gas-lamps burned without wavering. The whole square was packed with faces, and full of a low hubbub of talk. But when the two appeared the hubbub ceased and silence like an incoming tide spread everywhere. Then Hugh turned quickly to the proprietor.