"Excellent." McTaggart approved. "Won't you have a glass with me?"
The old man was visibly pleased. He propounded an elaborate toast.
"And now, I think, with his permission, I will retire." He bowed low. "May pleasant dreams wait on slumber." The door closed gently behind him.
McTaggart drew a deep breath, glad at last to be alone. He finished the wine and began to smoke, his cold feet planted against the stove.
He could not quite free himself from the spell of a fairy-tale; this strange arrival in the night into a mediæval land.
He glanced round him at the room, with its painted ceiling and comfortless floor and the huge bed of gilded wood shrouded with blue brocade.
He began sleepily to undress, but a low tap came at the door.
"Come in!—Entrez!—whatever's the word?"
Beppo appeared with a slim, dark youth.
"Ecco Mario." He explained. The newcomer bowed and stood, expectant, gazing respectfully at his bewildered new master.