Gonzague looked round upon his friends with the indulgent smile of a still youthful school-master surrounded by his promising pupils. "Well, gentlemen, does the fair amuse you?" he asked, urbanely.
Navailles turned to his doll for inspiration, made it give its metallic squeak, and then, as if repeating what Pulcinello had whispered to him, replied: "Enormously."
Oriol trumpeted his approval loudly, and the expressions of the others bore ample testimony to their enjoyment.
"Well, gentlemen," said Gonzague, "I hope and think that I reserved the best for the end." He made a sign to Peyrolles, who approached him. "Where is the girl?" he questioned, in a low voice.
Peyrolles pointed to the caravan. "Shall I bring her?" he asked.
Gonzague nodded. Peyrolles crossed the grass, his course followed curiously by the eyes of Gonzague’s friends, till he halted at the caravan and knocked at the door. Flora put out her head, and, recognizing Peyrolles, greeted him with an eager smile.
"The time has come," said Peyrolles, in a low voice, "for you to dance to this gentleman."
Flora touched him eagerly on the arm. "Which is my prince?" she asked.
Peyrolles gave a jerk of his head in the direction of Gonzague, and answered: "He in black with the star."
In a moment Flora had retired within the caravan, and emerged again with a pair of castanets in her hands. She advanced to Gonzague and made him a reverence. "Shall I dance for you, pretty gentleman?" she asked.