"I swear it, Benoni, I swear it." The old man seemed to have fallen asleep; it was a stupor.
"She came," he said, "years ago and offered me gold. It was to be the last effort of her life. She could not believe but that her husband was in Paris and might be found. She believed the song would find him. I had been suggested to her because my music and figure were known to all the boulevards. I was blind and could never know her. But I knew her voice.
"She went, veiled to avoid recognition; she stood by me at a certain place on the boulevard where people gather in the evening and sang. What a song. The streets were blocked, and men, I am told, uncovered before the sacred purity of that voice, and when all were there who could hear she sang our song; while I, weeping, played the accompaniment, ay, as no man living or dead could have played it. Always in the lines—
"Oceans may roll between
Thy home and thee."
—her voice gave way. They called it art.
"Well, I thought, one day I will tell; it was always the next day, but I knew, as she sang, in her mind must have arisen the picture of that husband standing by her side—ah, my God, I could not, I could not; blind, scarred, a felon, I could not; I was dead! It was bitter!
"And then she came to me and said: 'Good Benoni, your heart is true and tender; I thank you; I have wealth and plenty; here is gold, take it in memory of a broken heart you have soothed.' I said:
"'The voice of that woman, her song, are better than gold. I have them.' I went and stood in the door as she, weeping, passed out. She lifted her veil and touched the forehead of the old musician with her lips, and then—I hardly knew! I was lying on the floor when Annette came to bring my tea."
For a long time he sat without motion after this recital. Edward loosened the faded cords of his gown. The old man spoke again in a whisper:
"Come closer; there is another secret. I knew then that I had never before loved her. My marriage had been an outrage of heart-faith. I mistook admiration, sympathy, memory, for love. I was swept from my feet by her devotion, but it is true—as God is my judge, I never loved her until then—until her sad, ruined life spoke to me in that song on the streets of Paris." Edward still held his hand.