The immense bowl of the gulf was reflecting their sparkles like thousands of will o' the wisps.

The candle shades in the restaurant were throwing purplish spots upon the table covers, casting upon the faces of those who were eating around them violent contrasts of light and shade.

From the locked rooms were escaping sounds of kisses, pursuit and falling furniture.
"Let us go!" ordered Freya.
The noise of this vulgar orgy was annoying her as though it were dishonoring the majesty of the night.

She needed to move about, to walk in the darkness, to breathe in the freshness of the mysterious shade.
At the garden gate they hesitated before the appeals of various coachmen.

Freya was the one who refused their offers.