The musical bell rang in the wine room, where the worshipers of Bacchus were assembled, the signal that the drop would rise again in five minutes. At the bar the imbibers were passing judgment.
“What elegance, deah boy! But cold––give me Fantoccini!” cried the carpet knight.
“Fantoccini’s a doll to her!” retorted the worldly young spark addressed.
“A wicked French doll, then! What do you think?” Turning to the local Addison.
“Sir, she ‘snatches a grace beyond the reach of art’!” replied that worthy.
“You ask for a criticism, and he answers in poetry!” retorted the first speaker.
“’Tis only the expression of the audience!” interposed another voice.
“Oh, of course, Mr. Mauville, if you, too, take her part, that is the end of it!”
The land baron’s smile revealed withering contempt, as with eyes bright with suppressed excitement, and his face unusually sallow, he joined the group.