“Lizzette!” exclaimed Herbert with a start. “All this shames me, for I realize the selfishness of my aims. But let me once win Elsie, and by all that is sacred I promise to be as wax in her hands.”
Lizzette regarded Herbert’s flushed face with grave eyes. “I tink you meestake her still. To vin ze spurs and vear zem make ze knight in her eyes, I fancy.”
“Ah, well, I see you are bound to convince me that the way is difficult; but I do not despair yet. To tell the truth, it is a new and somewhat depressing knowledge to learn of how little value Herbert Lynn is in this world. He always fancied himself quite a personage until he chanced on your quixotic circle.”
Lizzette’s eyes twinkled. “Eet ees good sometimes to see ourselves in ze truthful mirror of unflattering eyes. Still I do not tink mon Herbeart ees all so bad. I haf some fond hope for him yet.”
“It is fortunate that you have; for with the unpleasant truths I’ve been hearing lately, there is great danger in my finding this world a hollow mockery and betaking myself to a monastery. But here we are! Now for a consultation with Dr. M——. We shall know the truth about Antoine’s case soon, and then, if favorable, we can tell the lad what the future has in store for him.”
Glancing up, Lizzette saw before her the façade of a large hospital, into which they were speedily ushered. It did not take long to establish the fact that so far as could be determined without actual examination there was hope for Antoine, and it was safe enough to arouse the lad’s anticipations; a thing which Lizzette had hesitated about doing without strong presumption of success. A personal examination the following day gave still greater color to hope, and with glowing anticipations for the future, it was settled that within two weeks Antoine should take up his abode for six months at the hospital.
That night Elsie and Antoine held high carnival, and between them there was a wild commingling of laughter, tears, kisses, and music. Every now and then Elsie would turn from the organ to print a kiss on the lad’s pale cheek, and Antoine would throw down fiddle and bow to clasp his arms around her neck and whisper:
“Only think, Elsie, if it hadn’t been for Herbert all this would never have happened. Isn’t he good!”
CHAPTER XV.
It was the night before Antoine’s departure for the hospital, and already April breaths were balmy with Southland odors. Through the open windows of Margaret’s room there floated down to passers-by the vanishing strains of a deftly-handled violin. Antoine and Elsie were giving a farewell concert to Margaret’s Busy Fingers Club, and the strains of music had drawn first one inmate of the house and then another up the long flights of stairs until the rooms were full. It was a treat to which the children had long been looking forward, and their elders found a short surcease of care in the delight and abandon of the two untrained musicians. Elsie and Antoine were in their gayest mood, and violin and organ seemed to laugh with them. Like the birds they had tried to imitate a year ago, music seemed to be innate in their breasts, and they flung off gay quicksteps, ariettas, and rondos until hands, feet, and heads of the little audience kept almost unconscious time, and smiles flitted from face to face in self-forgetfulness.