Ein feste burg ist unser Gott.
I knew the words as familiarly as I knew the music, and yet that was almost the last place and time in which I should have expected to hear it. It was not Mademoiselle who played so low and soft to hear. Oh, I felt sure of that! The touch was lighter, graver and quieter. I drew near the player and listened. I had heard Mademoiselle sing that wonderful song, "Adelaide," and she had sung it divinely. But I would have given a dozen "Adelaide's" for that simple air, rendered by no voice, but merely by sympathetic fingers on those austere keys. I listened, as I say, and into my heart crept something—I know not what—that gave me a feeling of fulness of heart, of a surcharge of strange and not wholly painful sentiment.
I was still battling with these sensations when the music ceased and the player arose. She started slightly on seeing me, and I found myself stammering an excuse for my presence.
"I was looking for Sir John Barraclough."
"Come," she said, after a moment's pause, "I will find him for you."
I followed her into the corridor, until she paused outside a door and opened it abruptly without knocking. I waited without, but I heard her voice, strangely harsh and clear.
"Sir John Barraclough, you are being sought by Dr. Phillimore."
Three minutes later Barraclough joined me, red and discomposed. "Anything the matter?" he growled.
I knew now that I had been used as a definite excuse to get rid of Barraclough, whose presence was not welcome to the Princess Alix; and with that knowledge I framed my answer.
"Yes; what terms have you made with Holgate?"