The light from above faded almost instantly—perhaps a cloud was passing over the sun.
But, au contraire, the shadow of the room beyond had invitation now. It no longer seemed sombre.
He went into the shadows and sat down in the same chair where he had been before.
He smiled as he lit another cigarette. How strange moods were! how powerful for a moment, but how quickly over! The letters in his breast pocket seemed to glow out with material warmth, a warmth that went straight to his heart through the cloth and linen of his clothing. The new Ego was fed. Rita!
Yes! at least life had given him this and was it not the treasure of treasures? There was nothing coarse nor earthly in this at least!
The music of the Venusberg throbbed in all his pulses, calling, calling from the hollow hill. He did not realise from where it came—this magic music—and that there is more than one angelic choir.
Rita and Gilbert. Gilbert and Rita!
The words and music of one song!
So we observe that now the masked musicians in the unseen orchestra are in their places.
Any little trouble with the Management is over. Opposition players have sorrowfully departed. The Audience has willed it so, and the band only awaits its leader.