“Nothing, dear. I can’t prevent it; it is magnetism, you see.”
“Now he is missing his lesson for the sake of following us.”
“It is no good struggling against fate, Caterina.”
Caterina was silent, for she knew not what to say.
It was three o’clock when they entered the Samazzaro Theatre, all lit up by gas, as if for an evening entertainment. Nearly all the boxes were occupied, and a hum of suppressed chitchat arose towards the gilded ceiling. From time to time there was a peal of irrepressible laughter. People who, in groups of threes and fours, invaded the parterre were dazed by the artificial light. The gas was gruesome after the brilliant light of the streets. The ladies were all in dark morning costumes; most of them wore large hats, some were wrapped in furs. There was the click of cups in one box where the Duchess of Castrogiovanni and the Countess Filomarina were drinking tea, to warm themselves. Little Countess Vanderhoot hid her snub nose in her muff, trying to warm it by blowing as hard as she could. Smart Neapolitans, with their fur coats thrown back to show the gardenia in their button-hole, with dark gloves and light cravats, moved about the parterre and the stalls and began to pay a few visits in the boxes.
“What is going on here?” asked Lucia, as she took her seat in Box 1, first tier.
“You’ll see, you’ll see.”
“But what is that boarding for, which enlarges the stage, and entirely covers the place for the orchestra?”
“There’s a fencing tournament to-day.”