They came into the sala together, where old Christopoulos paced up and down in front of the shuttered windows, and a score of other people sat whispering over their cups of tisane. White dresses, dim mirrors, and the dull gilt of furniture gleamed here and there in the shadows of the vast room.
'Any news? any news?' the banker asked of the two young men.
'You know quite well, father, that no results are to be declared until seven o'clock this evening.'
Alexander opened a section of a Venetian blind, and as a shaft of sunlight fell startlingly across the floor a blare of music burst equally startlingly upon the silence.
'The platia is crowded already,' said Alexander, looking out.
The hum of the crowd became audible, mingled with the music; explosions of laughter, and some unexplained applause. The shrill cry of a seller of iced water rang immediately beneath the window. The band in the centre continued to shriek remorselessly an antiquated air of the Paris boulevards.
'At what time is the procession due?' asked Fru Thyregod over Julian's shoulder.
'At five o'clock; it should arrive at any moment,' Julian said, making room for the Danish Excellency.
'I adore processions,' cried Fru Thyregod, clapping her hands, and looking brightly from Julian to Alexander.
Alexander whispered to Julie Lafarge, who had come up,—