“The room of Monsieur is always in order. Follow me, my dear.”
And, taking the carpet-bag, Madame conducted her to the little chamber, then asked: “Now what will you have, my dear? A little claret and water? Some fruit or cake?”
“Nothing, thank you. I’ll rest on the sofa awhile. You’re very kind. The gentleman’s name is Vance, is it?”
“Yes; is he not an acquaintance?”
“I never saw him till three minutes ago. He noticed me resting, and, I fear, weeping in the street, and he asked me in here to rest.”
“’T was just like him. He’s so good, so generous! He gives me the rent of this house with the pretty garden attached. You can see it from the window. Look at the grapes. He reserves for himself this room, which I daily dust and keep in order. Poor man! ’T was here he passed the few months of his marriage, years ago. His wife died, and he bought the house, and has kept it in repair ever since. This used to be their sleeping-room. ’T was also their parlor, for they were poor. There’s their little case of books. Here’s the piano on which they used to play duets. ’T was a hired piano, and was returned to the owner; but Mr. Vance found it in an old warehouse, not long ago, had it put in order, and brought here. ’T is one of Chickering’s best; a superb instrument. You should hear Mr. Vance play on it.”
“Does he play well?” asked Clara, who had almost forgotten her own troubles in listening to the little woman’s gossip.
“Ah! you never heard such playing! I know something of music. My family is musical. I flatter myself I’m a judge. I’ve heard Thalberg, Vieuxtemps, Jael, Gottschalk; and Mr. Vance plays better than any of them.”
“Is he a professor?”
“No, merely an amateur. But he puts a soul into the notes. Do you play at all, my dear?”