The leader of the highly salaried orchestra placed his
violin caressingly against his chin, lowered his eyelids,
and floated into a sea of melody.
`` `Hark!' said most of the diners, `he is playing ``The
Chaplet.'' '
``They knew it was `The Chaplet' because they had heard it
played at luncheon and afternoon tea, and at supper the
night before, and had not had time to forget.
`` `Yes, he is playing ``The Chaplet,'' ' they reassured
one another. The general voice was unanimous on the
subject. The orchestra had already played it eleven times
that day, four times by desire and seven times from force of
habit, but the familiar strains were greeted with the
rapture due to a revelation. A murmur of much humming rose
from half the tables in the room, and some of the more
overwrought listeners laid down knife and fork in order to
be able to burst in with loud clappings at the earliest
permissible moment.
``And the Canetons <`a> la mode d'Ambl
ve? In
stupefied, sickened wonder Aristide watched them grow cold
in total neglect, or suffer the almost worse indignity of
perfunctory pecking and listless munching while the
banqueters lavished their approval and applause on the
music-makers.
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