One man was fastening a spray
of flowers on the ample bosom of the flautiste, while another sipped
the brown lager from the glass of the big drum, and the old wife of the
conductor left her triangle and cymbals to beg some roses from an Arab
flower-girl. Truly the world was enjoying itself, and Gregorio smiled
dreamily, for the sight of so much gaiety pleased him. He wished one of
the women would come and talk to him; he would have liked to chat with
the fair-haired girl who played the first violin so well. He began to
wonder why she preferred that ugly Englishman with his red face and bald
head. He caught snatches of their conversation. Bah! how uninteresting
it was! for they could barely understand each other. What pleasure did
she find in listening to his bad French? and in her native Hungarian
he could not even say, "I love." Why had she not come to him, Gregorio
Livadas, who could talk to her well and would not mumble like an idiot
and look red and uncomfortable! Then he saw she was drinking champagne,
and he sighed. Ah, yes, these English were rich, and women only cared
for money; they were unable to give up their luxuries for the sake of a
man.
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