“Will you not sing it then? Sing it all again, if you will, to please me?”
She sat down in the room this time, and once more Marthe sang the words, to the light tripping measure of the first stanza, and the martial rhythm of the second. For the third, the music changed yet again to more solemn harmonies:
“Then, when Death batters
At my gate,
One boon, I pray thee,
Grant me, Fate—
Instant to open
Ere he wait!”
The chords ended in the minor.
Looking up, Marthe saw that Mme de Trélan had leant her head on one hand. She rose, stood a moment irresolute, and then darted to her, and flinging herself on her knees beside her seized her other hand.