Louis had now opportunity to observe the fair girl whose first appearance had captivated him. She wore a white morning dress, with a colored silk handkerchief tied round her white, slender throat. Her dark brown hair fell in ringlets over her cheeks and neck, contrasting with a complexion fresh as the spring rose. Beautiful as she was, he could hardly understand how so much frankness and playfulness of manner could consist with the depth of feeling speaking from her large, dark eyes.
After several efforts to overcome his diffidence, he said to her, “I was made very happy by your song last night, Mademoiselle Nina. I heard you sing after midnight.”
“Impossible!” she answered in some surprise; “I did not sing last night.”
“Nay—that would have been forbidden,” said the father, gravely; “singing late at night is bad for the voice. We are no nightingales; our business is to sleep o’ nights.”
“You need not deny it,” cried the young man. “The music I heard came from yonder apartment, and I saw—pardon me—I saw a lady in white dress pass the open window.”
“That could not have been my daughter,” repeated Signor Ricco.
“But,” persisted Louis, “I could not have been deceived. I heard the sweetest soprano voice, and saw a female figure, which approached the window, and then passed through the chamber.”
Nina looked very mischievous, and cried—
“Oh, you are a ghost-seer! I will have nothing to do with you!”
And she began to sing an air in a clear, silvery staccato, making gestures of aversion with her pretty hands. Then the lively girl ran to the window, and exclaimed that the carriage was come; threw on her shawl and bounded down the steps so swiftly, that Louis could hardly keep pace with her. He assisted her into the carriage, and waited for Signor Ricco, who soon made his appearance with a roll of paper.