The seats at every table were
occupied, and the fumes of smoke from a hundred cigars partly hid the
ladies of the orchestra. As the waiters pushed aside the swing-doors
of the buffet and staggered into the salon with whisky, absinthe, and
coffee, the click of billiard-balls was heard. The windows facing the
sea were wide open, for the heat was intense, and the murmur of the
waves mingled with the plaintive voices of the violins.
Seated by a table at the far end of the hall, Gregorio Livadas hummed
softly an accompaniment to Suppe's "Poete et Paysan," puffing from time
to time a cloudlet of blue smoke from his mouth. When the music ceased
he joined in the applause, leaning back happily in his chair as the
musicians prepared to repeat the last movement. Meanwhile his eyes
wandered idly over the faces of his neighbors.
When the last chord was struck he saw the women hurry down from the
platform and rush toward the tables where their acquaintances sat. He
heard them demand beer and coffee, and they drank eagerly, for fiddling
in that heat was thirsty work. He watched the weary waiters hastening
from table to table, and he heard the voices around him grow more
animated and the laughter more frequent.
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