It seems so certain that the voice that sings so tenderly is speaking to them individually.

Music is such a fleeting, passionate thing that a woman takes it all to herself; how could he sing like that for anyone else?
And yet there is always someone for whom he does really pour out his heart, and all the rest are the dolls of life, to be looked at and admired for their dress and complexion, and to laugh at when the fancy takes him to laugh; but not to love.
At midnight Nino was at his post, but he waited long and patiently for a sign.

It was past two, and he was thinking it hopeless to wait longer, when his quick ear caught the sound of a window moving on its hinges, and a moment later something fell at his feet with a sharp, metallic click.

The night was dark and cloudy, so that the waning moon gave little light.

He picked up the thing and found a small pocket handkerchief wrapped about a minute pair of scissors, apparently to give it weight.