Long afterwards--but even then he could not smile as men so
often smile when they look back on lost despairs!
He and his companions spoke but little together as they journeyed.
Occasionally Madame and Mr. Sagittarius conversed in husky whispers,
like brigands the Prophet thought, and the veiled click of Madame's
contralto struck through the startled air. But mostly a silence
prevailed--a silence alive with fate.
At the corner of Air Street they got out and began to walk down
Piccadilly towards the Berkeley square. It was now evening. The lamps
were lighted and the murmur of strolling crowds filled the gloomy air.
Madame stared feverishly about her, excited by the press, the flashing
hansoms and the gaily-illuminated shops. Once, as she passed Benoist's,
she murmured "_O festum dies_!" and again, by the Berkeley, when she
was momentarily jostled by a very large and umbrageous tramp who
had apparently been celebrating the joys of beggary--"_Acto profanus
vulgam_!" But generally she was silent, enwrapped, no doubt, in bookish
thought. When, at length, they stood before the door of number one
thousand she breathed a heavy sigh.
"Please," said the Prophet, in a trembling voice, "please enter quietly.
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