There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment. ” “Well, I have two,” said Mr. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. I was compelled to run away. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. My nerves were in rags. She turned to the stage, and Tristan was wounded in Kurvenal’s arms, with Isolde at his feet, and King Mark, the incarnation of masculine force and obligation, the masculine creditor of love and beauty, stood over him, and the second climax was ending in wreaths and reek of melodies; and then the curtain was coming down in a series of short rushes, the music had ended, and the people were stirring and breaking out into applause, and the lights of the auditorium were resuming. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. I don’t think any surroundings could throw a shadow on you.
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