At the appointed hour,
drunk with love and boiling over with hope, Sarrasine, his nose
buried in his cloak, hurried to the rendezvous appointed by the old
woman. She was waiting.
"'You are very late,' she said. 'Come.'
"She led the Frenchman through several narrow streets and stopped in
front of a palace of attractive appearance. She knocked; the door
opened. She led Sarrasine through a labyrinth of stairways, galleries,
and apartments which were lighted only by uncertain gleams of
moonlight, and soon reached a door through the cracks of which stole a
bright light, and from which came the joyous sound of several voices.
Sarrasine was suddenly blinded when, at a word from the old woman, he
was admitted to that mysterious apartment and found himself in a salon
as brilliantly lighted as it was sumptuously furnished; in the centre
stood a bountifully supplied table, laden with inviolable bottles,
with laughing decanters whose red facets sparkled merrily. He
recognized the singers from the theatre, male and female, mingled with
charming women, all ready to begin an artists' spree and waiting only
for him. Sarrasine restrained a feeling of displeasure and put a good
face on the matter.
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