“By permission of monsieur,” she said; and Ned followed her out of the room. She led him down one short passage straight into the practicable kitchen. A rather melodious sound of singing greeted him on the threshold. He stopped in considerable wonder, postponing his entrance while he listened.
“Little Lady Dormette,
Hark to my crying!
Would not you come to me
Though I were dying?
Little Lady Dormette,
Kiss my hot eyes,
Make me forget!
Little Lady Dormette,
Why have you left me?