Lord Hayle entered into the spirit of the thing, con amore. His spirits rose with those of his friend, and his sister also caught the note, while Lord Camborne, smoking a cigar by the fire, watched the three young people with a benevolent smile.
Lady Constance had been sitting by the piano. "Do you play, Lady Constance?" the duke asked.
"She's one of the best amateur pianists I've ever heard," said Lord Hayle.
"Do play something, Lady Constance. What will you give us?"
"It depends on the sort of music you like. Do you like Chopin?"
"I am very fond of Chopin indeed."
"I'll tell you what to play, Connie," said Lord Hayle eagerly. "Play that wonderful nocturne, I forget the number, where the bell comes in. The one with the story about it."
"A story?" said the duke.
"Yes; don't you know it, John? Chopin had just come back from his villa at Majorca—come back to Paris at a time when Georges Sand would have nothing more to do with him. He was living close to Notre Dame. He had a supper by appointment, but began to write his nocturne and forgot all about the time. He was nearing the end when the big bell of the cathedral began to toll midnight. He realised how late it was, and forced himself to finish the thing in a hurry. He wove the twelve great 'clangs' into the theme. It's marvellously romantic and Gothic. One seems to see Victor Hugo's dwarf, Quasimodo, upon the tower, drinking in the midnight air."
Lady Constance sat down at the piano and began the nocturne. The beautiful hands flashed over the keys, whiter than the ivory on which they pressed, her face was grave with the joy of what she was doing.