The two vegetables, cauliflower an gratin and boiled potatoes, were good to look at and good to eat, although neither of them had ever seen a garden. There was a salad, too, with an incomparable dressing. Finally, an excellent pudding. The wines and mineral waters, the liqueurs and the coffee, were genuine. The fantastic cuisine of my hostess extended only to the solid portions of the repast, and for this I was secretly thankful. I don't like chemical burgundies, and the "health-food" mochas and javas are only surprisingly good imitations of exceedingly bad coffee.
The chair opposite me remained unfilled, but each course was served at the cover as scrupulously as though the Lady Allegra were actually present. It made me feel a trifle uncomfortable at the first—the sight of that vacant chair set back a little from the table, the napkin half unfolded, the full wineglasses, the plate with its untouched food. And once, when the foot-man offered the cauliflower to my invisible vis-a-vis, it seemed as though she declined it. The man hesitated a second and then passed on without putting a portion on the plate. For the moment I was foolish enough to contemplate a similar refusal, but I reconsidered—I am very fond of cauliflower.
At the conclusion of dinner I took my cigar into the red drawing-room. The lights had been lowered, and only the opalescent bull's-eye glowed with undiminished brilliancy. I sat staring at it, and the outrageous perplexity of the situation began to get on my nerves. I must get out of here, and I half rose. Then I sank back, forgetting everything but that marvellous voice. Again the Lady Allegra was singing, and could I doubt that it was for me! David's "Charmant Oiseau," and then the gay little gavotte from "Manon."
What an astonishing repertoire—Chaminade, Schumann, Grieg, Richard Strauss. Finally Schubert, and Schubert only, the last and the best given, as it is meet, to him who is the master of all. The rainbow-tinted orb of the wall mirror continued to hold my eyes; they drooped and fell as the radiance grew fainter and yet fainter.
When I awoke Red-Fez was standing at the bedside, hot-water can in hand. "Morning, sar," he said, with gentle affability. "Will you permit me to shaver you?"
I jumped out of bed and went to the window. It was closed, although a ventilator at the top admitted plenty of the outside air, and the glass was of the opaque bull's-eye variety through which it is impossible to see. I tried to throw up the sash, but it would not budge.
I submitted in silence to the ministrations of Red-Fez, not choosing to enter into any discussion with a servant. But I was sorely tempted to protest when he proceeded to array me in an extraordinary robe of cardinal silk in lieu of the ordinary masculine habiliments. Certainly I could not leave the house enveloped in this ridiculous garment. My dress clothes would have been bad enough, but there was no trace of them to be seen. Evidently I should have to call Dr. Gonzales to account, and having descended to the now familiar red drawing-room, I sent Red-Fez with a request for an immediate audience. A few minutes later he appeared.
"Am I a prisoner here?" I asked, abruptly.
"You await the Lady Allegra's pleasure," he answered, imperturbably. "She is still indisposed. Possibly by to-night, but I cannot say definitely."
"I do not wish—"