For all that some moments of the performance seem interminable—for reasons good and ill alike—you find yourself quite startled when it concludes. Joan and Gilbert blast their final notes as Timshel finishes his wobbly capering with a pose.
There is a note of gratitude in the applause to be sure, simply to have the entertainment done. The meal was ill-timed (in part because of the early seating of the guests, you're sure) so their food was concluded long before your company's display did them the same kindness to complete. But at least one soul's applause seems entirely genuine: a tremendously hirsute Viscount festooned with copper sashes, who rises to his feet with boisterous cheers.
Attention turns to the nobleman as he raises his goblet and raps it with his knife. His light voice fills the room effortlessly. "Your Grace, I do not pretend to speak for all the noble souls in attendance here, but I dare say I've scarce had a more memorable night's entertainment in years."
"Too kind—too kind by half thou art, good sir," says the Duke, inclining his head with an inscrutable smile.
"I wonder if your Players and this multitude would beg my indulgence for a single dance? I can think of no merrier way to cap the evening than with a gay northern reel. And I daresay I've no fear of making a bigger fool of myself than your fools here."
Onward