“That is very well. I hope you will be able to bear the unrest of Old Ocean as bravely,” said the baroness.
And then she told Lilith what her experience had told her, the outfit necessary for the comfort of the voyage, and the outfit that would be nothing but an impediment.
And then, when an hour had passed, Lilith arose to take leave.
Madame Von Bruyin would not allow her to go, but insisted that she should stay to luncheon, which was served in madame’s private apartments.
It was a tête-à-tête feast, and Lilith much enjoyed the delicate fare set before her—the well-dressed game, the delicious salad, the dainty confectionery, the luscious fruits, and the pure, light Chablis.
When the repast was finished and the service was removed, the baroness went and took a guitar from its place on a stand in the recess, and sat down to play. She touched a few chords and then floated into a mournful solo from “Il Trovatore.” Her voice was a deep, rich, full contralto, but so profoundly sad that Lilith felt her eyes fill with tears as she said to herself:
“Ah, madame has also suffered. I know it.”
The baroness finished her song and laid aside her guitar without a word.
But presently she said:
“You love music, my dear? Bah! who does not?”