” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. He breathed a little sigh of satisfaction. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject.
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