Traske and the Bracelet
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Glitter of glass and perfume of flowers, the music of women’s laughter, the sparkle of jewels upon white bosoms, all the nameless air of content and wellbeing which pervades such a restaurant as Luigi’s during the holy hour of all Englishmen—the hour when he dines. The little orchestra, whose soft restrained playing was one of the charms of the place, had just finished the “Salut D’Amour.” Smoothly shining heads were bent towards more elaborate coiffures; whispers and smiles and glances, lit with meaning, flashed backwards and forwards between the occupants of the small tables. Dark visaged maîtres d’hôtel, deft and eager, watched the scene with interest. At one table only, a large round one near the door, were there any signs of dissatisfaction.
The tab
