The night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating. I was compelled to run away. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. He began to tell me something—and stopped. Their example was immediately imitated by the officers, constables, javelin men, and other attendants; and nothing was to be heard but shouts of laughter and jesting,—nothing seen but the passing of glasses, and the emptying of foaming jugs.
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