Midnight
The wine cup now flows freely , the walls reëcho the coarse jokes and coarser laughs of the banqueters , and leaden eyelids , languid faces , and reeling brains , mark the closing scene . Such is the gorgeous vice we worship , such the revelries we sanction , such the insidious debaucheries we shield with the mantle of our laws -- laws made for the accommodation of the rich , for the punishment only of the poor . And a thousand poor in our midst suffer for bread while justice sleeps . Midnight is upon the banqueters , the music strikes up a last march , the staggering company retire to the stifled air of resplendent chambers . The old hostess contemplates herself as a princess , and seriously believes an alliance with Grouski would not be the strangest thing in the world . There is , however , one among the banqueters who seems to have something deeper at heart than the transitory offerings on the table -- one whose countenance at times assumes a thoughtfulness singularly at variance with those around her . It is Anna Bonard .