Directly I told my name to the young girl, her face, which had before been amiable, brightened into a look of friendship.
“I know you,” said she; “you worked for M. Drouet; my father has mentioned you to his workmen, more than once, as an example to be followed. Do stay; he will be glad to see you.”
On looking around me, I perceived a harpsichord.
“You are a musician, I perceive, mademoiselle.”
“Oh, Monsieur Réné, you must not call me that. The organist of St. Gengoulf has given me a few lessons; and, as he says I have some voice, I practise singing to amuse myself.”
“Mademoiselle,” said I, “can you believe that I have never heard the sound of a harpsichord, or any song, but that of the washerwomen, as they beat their linen? Will you sing something for me as well as yourself, and I shall be completely happy?”
“With the greatest pleasure,” she replied.
And rising up, she crossed over to the harpsichord; and, after a simple prelude, she sang—
“How sad to me the day
When thou art far away!”