The music from without broke into louder evidence, and she turned frowning towards the door.
"Do you know, Dr. Phillimore," she asked hesitatingly, "if Mr. Morland is in his room?"
"He went after lunch," I answered. She stood considering.
"Mademoiselle has a beautiful voice," I said tentatively.
"Oh, yes," she assented. "It is of good quality and training." Her tone was curt, as if she were unwilling to continue the conversation, but she still listened.
Einsam Wandelt dein Freund im Frühlings garten.
It seemed to me that I could almost hear the words in that uplifted music. The song has always been a passionate fancy of mine, beguiling the heart of rock to romance. Sentiment is on wing in every corner of one's consciousness when that song rises in its fulness and falls in its cadences on one's ears and deeper senses.
In der Spiegelnden Fluth, in Schnee der Alpen....
... strahlt dein Bildniss.
I could see Mademoiselle Trebizond at the piano with the vision of the mind, her soul enrapt, her features transfigured. She was a figment of the emotions. And the Princess and I listened, she with a little dubitating look of perplexity, paying me no heed now, and I singularly moved. I walked down the corridor, past where Princess Alix stood, and as I went by I could have put out my arm and drawn her to me. She was wonderful in her beauty and her pride.
Deutlich schimmert auf jedem purpur blättchen.