"No, sir; it is violet, you said."
"We say blue violets."
"Yes, sir," she responded quickly. "So we say the blue sky at night; but how different at night and by day! The violet holds the blue, but also that deeper soul by the blue alone made visible. All sounds seem to sleep in one, when that is the violin."
"You are speaking too well; it makes me afraid you will be disappointed," I said in my first surprise. Then, feeling I had blundered, "I mean in me."
"That would make no difference. Music is, and is eternal. We cannot add one moment to its eternity, nor by our inaptitude diminish the proper glory of our art. Is it not so, sir?" she inquired of him.
Like a little child somewhat impatient over a morning lesson, he shook his hair back and sprang upon his feet.
"I wish you to show me the garden before I go: is this where you walk? And where is the Raphael?"
"That is placed in the conservatory, by order of Monsieur Milans-André."
"Monsieur myself will have it moved. Why in the conservatory, I wonder? It should be at home, I think."
"It does look very well there to-day, as it is hung with its peculiar garland,—the white roses."