In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights.
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