“I suppose you mean with some miracle?”
“Of course,” he replied; “it is the same thing. When they are pleased with some stage miracle, they clap their hands and applaud.”
“That is nice and sympathetic of them.”
“Yes, and they shout out loud and cry: ‘Bravo, very good night.’“
“No, Buffo! Is that really what they say?”
“Yes, they shout: ‘Bravo, very good night,’ and it is a pleasure to hear them.”
“I should think so. I must come in the winter next time and hear them say that.”
“They all ask me some questions. I know what they mean, but I cannot speak to them, and, if you please, will you write down for me in English what I shall tell you, so that I can show them the paper?”
“Certainly, my dear Buffo, any little thing of that kind. If any of them come to see the Escape from Paris, I should think they will have a good many questions to ask. For instance, there is the Aurora”—He was finishing her off by putting a silver fillet round her hair and a shining star
upon her forehead—”I cannot help it, but I still feel unhappy about her. She does not explain herself.”