Nina did not complain of his abstraction; but did her part in the conversation with so much grace and sweetness, that the artist involuntarily sighed, regretting that a form so lovely contained no soul. It cost him a severe pang to give her up forever.
Some time had passed in their monosyllabic discourse, when Nina suddenly started up, having forgotten to order lights, and quitted the room. Louis walked to the open window. His attention was an instant after arrested; he heard the voice of his unseen songstress. The sounds came from Ricco’s music room.
Softly he opened the door, and passed through the room into another, which adjoined the music room. There, in darkness—for the blinds were closed—he drank in the rich melody. It was the air from Mozart’s Magic Flute—
“I feel ’tis gone, ’tis lost for aye,
The bliss of love,” etc.
She sang in an under-tone; but this very suppression of her voice revealed so much, that our artist was deeply moved. He could no longer contain his emotion. Gently he opened the door of the room where she sat singing in darkness; and as the song ended, he threw himself at her feet, seized her hand, and pressed it to his burning lips. She sprang from the piano, terrified, snatched her hand away, and hurried out of the room.
Louis stood confused for a moment, then walked up and down the apartment, filled with emotions of delight. Then he seated himself at the piano, and poured forth the feelings of his heart in music. Just at the height of his rapture the hall-door opened, and presently a loud voice cried, “No more of that; you play dissonances! Away with your Mozartish stuff!” It was Ricco. The artist rose, and saluted him with some embarrassment.
“What is the meaning of this Egyptian darkness?” cried the Italian; “and why are you playing here all alone?” He pushed open the doors, and the light shone in from the tea-room, where Nina was seated.
CHAPTER VI.
Late as it was, Louis hastened to his friend Heissenheimer, and told him all that had occurred.