So she went back to her room, and I lit the calabash. I had been afraid that, after the country, this top floor would look very dismal and be depressing to her. But she was looking positively joyful. A minute later Frieda invaded the premises, for I had warned her of our arrival. She shrieked with admiration at the sight of the baby and commented at length on the color of Frances's cheeks. Eulalie joined in the cackling, and happiness reigned. We celebrated the evening at Camus.
After this the leaves soon began to drop in the big square, and I ordered the new suit and invested in a few bonds, like a bloated millionaire, and put them in a little safe at the bank, which could only be penetrated after running the gauntlet of a half a dozen uniformed and suspicious guardians, before whom I felt like an equivocal character.
Frances returned to Richetti and came back the first time with a glowing account of all that he had said. It appeared that she had hardly lost anything and had gained in depth of breathing and power of expression. The technique—ah! Per Bacco! She was a natural born singer! She had little need to learn! The voice was in her like those things in Pandora's box and only demanded to fly out. Her singing was the bel canto. Three months more of practice was all that was needed. After the first of the year she would sing in the great concert of his pupils. It would be an event! People would discover her again. The cornucopia of Abundance would open, wide-lipped, and success would flow from it!
"And I shall owe it all to you and Frieda, Dave," she said. "But I can't really believe that it will come true. Still, I don't know. Sit down and listen to this."
She opened the piano and sang, and at first my heart sank within me because she was so great compared to my insignificance. Then it became exalted because of the magnificence of her singing, which thrilled me. They were not great locust-cries of bravura, nor amazing gymnastics with difficult scales, that made me quiver. Just a sweet old melody heard a thousand times, thrummed by every piano, but now coming with such perfection of tone and such a quality of exquisiteness that I felt a thousand times more uplifted than when I had stood before Gordon's wonderful portrait of her.
When she finished, she turned a little on the revolving stool and looked at me, her head a little inclined to one side, her lips smiling at me, for she could not but know how splendidly she had sung.
"Well, Dave," she asked, "are you pleased?"
"My dear Frances," I answered, "a king of Bavaria had operas performed for himself alone, and, likewise, I have had a treat that might have enraptured thousands. I am a monarch basking in luxury. No, after all I am the same old Dave who has found a treasure by the wayside and is gloating over it. That's what I'm doing. If I knew anything about music, I might, perhaps, tell you what it is that I find to admire in your singing, but I can only say I am impressed by something that leaves me wondering and gives me a keen delight I cannot put in words."
"I'm so glad, Dave!" she exclaimed. "I shall always sing to you as much as you like. I am thankful to be able to give you pleasure."
Pleasure, forsooth! She can give me everything a man longs for in the world! Sweetness, beauty, melody are all in her power of bestowal! But I should be thankful for her affection and grateful for my privileges as a trusted friend. May I never by any folly forfeit them!