"You need not wait till then," she said, throwing her arms round his
neck. "There!" she said, as she embraced him, passionately to all
appearance, and plied him with the coaxing caresses that are part of
the business of such a life as hers, like stage action for an actress.

"Where is the music?" asked Castanier.

"What next? Only think of your hearing music now!"

"Heavenly music!" he went on. "The sounds seem to come from above."

"What? You have always refused to give me a box at the Italiens
because you could not abide music, and are you turning music-mad at
this time of day? Mad--that you are! The music is inside your own
noddle, old addle-pate!" she went on, as she took his head in her
hands and rocked it to and fro on her shoulder. "Tell me now, old man;
isn't it the creaking of the wheels that sings in your ears?"

"Just listen, Naqui! If the angels make music for God Almighty, it
must be such music as this that I am drinking in at every pore, rather
than hearing. I do no know how to tell you about it; it is as sweet as
honey-water!"

"Why, of course, they have music in heaven, for the angels in all the
pictures have harps in their hands. He is mad, upon my word!" she said
to herself, as she saw Castanier's attitude; he looked like an
opium-eater in a blissful trance.

They reached the house. Castanier, absorbed by the thought of all that
he had just heard and seen, knew not whether to believe it or not; he