"And I presume that as a faun I should hardly be a success," I ventured.
"What an idea! Frances, think of our dear old Dave prancing on a pair of goat's legs and playing pipes of Pan."
They laughed merrily over the farcical vision thus evoked, and, of course, I joined in the merriment. We remained for some time, watching the dancing that took place in a space cleared of tables. Not far from us rose an old gentleman who might have been profitably employed in reading Victor Hugo's "Art of being a Grandfather," who danced with a pretty young girl who looked at him, mischievously. From the depth of my virtue I somewhat frowned upon him, until he returned to the table where a white-haired old lady and a young man were still sitting. The girl put her hand on the old lady's arm, and I heard her say something to the effect that Daddy was growing younger every day, so that I felt properly contrite.
There may be much folly in all this dancing, in the spending of many hours that might be employed in more useful pursuits, but, after all, our hearts are in great part such as we make them. The wicked will always find no lack of opportunity for the flaunting of evil ways, and the good will never be any the worse for anything that cheers them, that lightens drearier bits of life, that may bring smiles to lips trained to the speaking of truth and kindness.
After this little feast of ours, some more weeks went by, marked by the parading in the streets of a few old men engaged in selling pussy-willows, after which the shops displayed the first lilacs which presently grew so abundant that they were peddled on every street-corner, wherefore I knew that the Spring was fairly established and swiftly turning into summer. Frances was going to Richetti's, regularly, and practising every evening, with the assistance of my piano. To me her scales and exercises sounded more entrancing than any diva's rendering of masterpieces, I think. It was all in the voice, in the wonderful clear notes which, like some wonderful bloom come out of a homely bulb, had so quickly sprung from the poor little husky tones I remembered so well. Even then there had been charm and sweetness in them, but, now, her song added greater glory to Frances and seemed to be taking her farther away from me, to make her more intangible.
I met Richetti in the street, the other day, and he grasped my arm, enthusiastically.
"But a few more weeks of lessons," he told me, beamingly. "After that the cara signora Francesca will work by herself for a few months, when I go to Newport. By September I return and we begin again. Ah! Signore Cole, we give again to the world a great voice, a ripe full-throated organ, with flexibility, with a timbre magnifico! She makes progress so quick I cease not to marvel. By middle of winter I give my concert of pupils. Yesterday, I make her sing Massenet's 'Elégie.' It make me cry very nearly. She have a soul full of music, per Bacco! Addio, caro signore! I see my friend Gazzoro-Celesti. A thousand pardons!"
He shook hands effusively and ran across Broadway, where he greeted the great basso buffo of the Metropolitan, and I was left to rejoice by myself, as I went into a shop to buy a new typewriter ribbon.
And so a time came when the lessons were stopped for some weeks. Richetti deplored the fact that Frances could not go to Newport, where he would have kept on teaching her, but assured her that she was getting on marvelously and that her practice would suffice to prevent her from losing anything she had gained back.
With the beginning of the hot weather, Frances grew somewhat anxious about Baby Paul, who was weaned and did not keep up his steady gain in weight. She was looking rather tired, and I insisted on calling in Dr. Porter, who advised an immediate change of air.