A sky rocket had exploded and thousands of stars hung for an instant suspended in mid-air. Then an entire artillery of Roman candles seemed to be let loose at once. There was a blare of trumpets, a grand burst of music and the gorgeous water pageant was outlined against the sky like an illuminated picture.
Other boats began dropping out of line after the music had stopped, and Mr. Stuart ordered the engineer to run farther out into the lake where the illumination could be seen to better advantage. Grace struck a chord on her guitar and began to sing: “’Tis night on Venice waters,” when Marian, to the surprise of the others, suddenly joined in with a sweet contralto voice.
“Why, Marian, I never dreamed you could sing like that,” exclaimed Ruth, when the song was done.
Marian blushed, but said nothing. She had hardly spoken during the whole evening.
The air was full of music that night and the sound of laughter and singing floated across the lake from scores of other boats. The strains of the “Marseillaise” came to them from a launch that Maud had been watching for some time.
“I know whose voice that is,” said Barbara. “It’s Monsieur Duval’s.”
“It is, I think,” replied Ruth, “although the boat is too far away for us to see him plainly.”
Marian drew a scarf over her head and crouched down in her seat.
“Could she be afraid of her own mother?” wondered Barbara, for Mrs. De Lancey Smythe was easily recognized as one of the occupants of the boat. The count, who was playing on a tinkling little mandolin, sat beside her. As the boat drew nearer they noticed another figure wrapped in a long blue broadcloth cape. It was that of a woman, sitting with her back to them. A scarf concealed her head and face.
“Barbara,” whispered Ruth, “are we dreaming or is it the Countess Sophia?”