And they passed on.
As the girl paused before the lighted window the outlines of head and shoulders were accentuated, while the rest of her body remained in obscurity. Her head was shapely and well poised. Beneath the small toque of black velvet, an aureole of dry brown hair framed her sensitive profile like a setting of old mahogany. Even in the half-light silhouette it could be noticed that eyes, hair, and complexion differed in tone rather than in color. Her sallow skin blended in peculiar harmony with the gray-green of her eyes and the brown of her hair. Her face was long, with irregular features and straight brows. The bones of cheek and chin were rendered sharper by extreme thinness.
A new photograph of Alvary was displayed, and a small group had assembled about the window.
The girl looked at it for a moment; then, as some one in the crowd jostled against her, she turned with an exclamation of annoyance and entered the shop. Hesitating an instant, she drew a worn purse from her pocket, looked into it, gave a decisive little shrug, and approached the counter.
The shop-girl came up, and, recognizing her, nodded.
"Music?" she inquired, glancing at the leather roll which the other carried.
The girl shook her head slowly.
"No," she replied, "I want a photograph of Alvary—as Lohengrin. Oh, the Swan Song—"
A man who was sorting a pile of music in the rear of the shop came forward smiling. He was small and dark and foreign.
"Ah, mademoiselle," he said, "it ees a plaisir for w'ich I live, ees ze Elsa of your."