The last long-drawn note ended; then Anne-Marie moved. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry.
"Why do you cry, darling—why do you cry?" asked Nancy embracing her.
Anne-Marie's large eyes gazed at Nancy. "For many things—for many things!" she said. And Nancy for the first time felt that her child's spirit stood alone, beyond her reach and out of her keeping.
"Is it the music, dear?"
Anne-Marie held her tight, and did not answer. Nancy coaxed her back to bed, and soon tucked her up and left her. But the door between them was kept wide open, and the sound of Grieg's "Berceuse" and Handel's "Minuet" reached Nancy at her table, and helped her to add fantastic details to her letter.
The next morning they moved to the boarding-house in Lexington Avenue. They did not see George, who had already gone down-town to his shipping office; but Peggy helped them into the carriage, and with Minna ran up and down the stairs after forgotten parcels.
"What's wrong with the kiddy? She don't look festive," said Peggy, handing a hoop and a one-legged policeman, survivor of the Schmidl's Punch-and-Judy show, into the carriage to Anne-Marie.
"Your music yesterday excited her very much," said Nancy. "She liked the violin."
"Oh, that was Markowski. He's a funny old toad," said Peggy; and she got on to the carriage-step to kiss Anne-Marie. But Anne-Marie covered her face, and turned her head away. She seemed to be crying, and Peggy winked at Nancy, and said; "She's a queer little kid." And Nancy said, "She does not like good-byes." Then Minna got into the carriage with the cage of Anne-Marie's waltzing mice, for she was going to the boarding-house with them to help unpack.
"Good-bye! Au revoir! Come and see us soon!" ... The carriage rumbled off. Minna had counted and recounted on her fingers how many things they had, and how many things they had forgotten, when Anne-Marie raised her red face from her hands.