"The Signor is generous," he remarked, with a cunning look. "I have risked my place by leaving the terrace without permission to bring him this news, and I am poor—very, very poor!" he added, with a sudden drop in his voice which resembled a whine.
The Englishman threw a piece of gold into the brown, greedy palm.
"Tell it me, and be off," he said shortly.
The waiter—half Greek, half native, and a thorough rascal—bowed low, and his beadlike eyes glistened.
"The Signor is noble. The beautiful lady's name is Signorina Adrienne Cartuccio."
"The singer?"
"The same, Signor. The divine singer."
"Ah!"
The Englishman turned toward the wide, open window, and gazed steadfastly at the place in the crowd where she had vanished.
"She sings to-night, does she not?" he asked.