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Updated: May 29, 2025
In case the afternoon should seem dull, his Excellency had engaged the services of Signor Strillone, the singer.
Will you put down my cup of tea? Let us go near the fire; Strillone is going to sing again." "I would like him to sing a 'Nune dimittis, Domine, for me," murmured Giovanni, whose eyes were filled with a strange light. Half an hour later Corona d'Astrardente went down the steps of the Embassy wrapped in her furs and preceded by her footman.
Suddenly, just as Signor Strillone had reached a high note and was preparing to bellow upon it before letting his voice die away to a pathetic falsetto, the crowd at the door parted a little. A lady entered the room alone, and stood out before the rest, pausing till the singer should have passed the climax of his song, before she proceeded upon her way.
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