“And why do you conclude that I am an observer?” asked Cæsar.
“The idea! Because it is evident.”
“And an observer with very evil intentions,” insisted Mlle. de Sandoval.
“You credit me with qualities I haven’t got.”
Cæsar had to accede, and the Dawson ladies and he were the first to enter the salon and take their seats. In one corner was a glass vase hung from the ceiling by a pulley.
“What is that?” Mme. Dawson asked a servant.
“It is a glass vase full of bonbons, which you have to break with a pole with your eyes closed.”
“Ah, yes.”
Since nobody else came in, the Dawson girls and Cæsar wandered about looking into the cupboards and finding the Marchesa Sciacca’s music and the Neapolitan’s. They looked out one of the salon windows. It was a detestable night, raining and hailing; the great drops were bouncing on the sidewalks of the Piazza Esedra. Water and hail fell mixed together, and for moments at a time the ground would stay white, as if covered with a thin coating of pearls.
The fountain in the centre cast up its streams of water, which mingled with the rain, and the central jet shone in the lays of the arc-lights; now and again the livid brilliance of lightning illuminated the stone arches and the rumbling of thunder was heard...