There were cries of “Glory!”, and they drank, and clinked their glasses. Jiří bowed.
Subjects of conversation were running low. Only a word fell here and there. Old gentlemen began to look at their watches: it was eleven. The garden was getting empty. Only in a few places were cards being played. The surfaces of the empty tables reflected the lamplight. The tiny waiter was falling asleep in a dark corner. The gentlemen arose, paid their accounts, and went away.
It was a beautiful night. Thousands of gleaming stars were twinkling in the dark heavens. A moist, fresh breeze was wafting fragrance from the nearby gardens.
The doctor, the trusty man, and Jiří were walking together. Their steps re-echoed at the other end of the street. They walked in silence. A night watchman was somewhere singing off the eleventh hour. The mournful barking of a dog was heard somewhere
