“But one?” Her voice held a hint of mockery.
“For the moment.”
“A merry song? A sad song?”
“Madam, it will accord with the mood of the listener, therefore I will term it neither a merry song, nor a sad song, but an adaptable song.”
She leaned back in her chair. “An unusual song. Let us hear it.”
Peregrine struck a couple of chords on the tabor, then in a voice not large, but a sweet barytone, he sang:
Ah, what it is to dream
Know ye, who seek to deem
Your way a path more bright
Than that it now doth seem;