“I have a thought,—a happy thought,—if Gladys will help me. You have given me one living picture: I will give you others, and she shall sing the scenes we illustrate.”
“Take Felix, and give us ‘The God and the Bayadere,’” said Helwyze, glancing at the young pair behind them, he intent upon their conversation, she upon him. “No, I will have only Gladys. You will act and sing for us, I know?” and Olivia turned to her with a most engaging smile.
“I never acted in my life, but I will try. I think I should like it for I feel as if I could do any thing to-night;” and she came to them with a swift step, an eager air, as if longing to find some outlet for the strange energy which seemed to thrill every nerve and set her heart to beating audibly.
“You look so. Do you know all these songs?” asked Olivia, taking up the book which had suggested her happy thought.
“There are but four: I know them all. I will gladly sing them; for I set them to music, if they had none of their own already. I often do that to those Felix writes me.”
“Come, then. I want the key of the great press, where you keep your spoils, Jasper.”
“Mrs. Bland will give it you. Order what you will, if you are going to treat us to an Arabian Night’s entertainment.”
“Better than that. We are going to teach a small poet, by illustrating the work of a great one;” and, with a mischievous laugh, Olivia vanished, beckoning Gladys to follow.
The two men beguiled the time as best they might: Canaris playing softly to himself in the music-room; Helwyze listening intently to the sounds that came from behind the curtains, now dropped over a double door-way leading to the lower end of the hall. Olivia’s imperious voice was heard, directing men and maids. More than once an excited laugh from Gladys jarred upon his ear; and, as minute after minute passed, his impatience to see her again increased.