III
It was past nine o'clock as he roamed the vast garden surrounding the
Palace of a Thousand Sounds--thus named because of the tiny bells
tinkling about its marble dome. He had eaten an unsatisfying meal in a
small antechamber, waited upon by a stupid servant. And worse still, the
food was ill cooked. On presenting his credentials, earlier in the
evening, the grand vizier, a sneaky-appearing man, had welcomed him
coldly, telling him that her Serene Highness was too exhausted to
receive so late in the day; she had granted too many audiences that
afternoon.
"And the prince?" he queried. The prince was away hunting by moonlight,
and could not be seen for at least a day. In the interim, Pobloff was
told to make himself at home, as became such a distinguished composer
and artistic plenipotentiary of Balakia's king. Then he was bowed out of
the chamber, down the low malachite staircase, into his supper room. It
was all very disturbing to a man of Pobloff's equable disposition.
He thought of Luga, his little wife, his dove; but not long.
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