Edward Page and Susie were present when the count entered, but after a half hour or so Susie left, and the young man soon followed. The conversation then turned upon the engagement of Miss Delano and Felix Müller. “It will be a very happy union,” said Paul. “If the theory of opposites hold true, they are well suited to each other, and they are certainly much in love. They are constantly together. They sit up evenings after all are abed, and then take long strolls in the park before breakfast. It is a most happy courtship. They are both among friends who give them full sympathy, and there is never a straw in the way of their bliss.”
“The old adage, then, about the course of true love, is likely to prove false in this instance,” said Clara; and then changing the subject abruptly, as women are wont to do—when they see fit—she asked the count if he had brought the theatre plans.
“Ah! I forgot them. From the time I left you until I returned, I don’t think I was once conscious of the existence of business. Are you disappointed?”
“In what? In which?” asked Clara, a little mischievously, perceiving that his question was susceptible of ambiguity; but she repented in a moment, seeing how gravely the count regarded her, and added, “I know you mean the plans. I don’t care to see them to-night. I wish you would sing to me.”
Paul sat down to the piano almost hurriedly, and as his deft fingers ran over the key-board, he said—the music making his low words even more distinct—“Hear what Paul says to his love.” He looked at her as she stood on his left, but her eyes were studiously fixed upon his hands.
The consciousness of a well-trained voice, able to express with divine eloquence words that may not be fitly spoken without music, is perhaps the proudest gift a lover can possess. Paul played the prelude once, and then repeated it, as if waiting for the certainty of self-control. The music he was playing Clara had never heard; but she knew that it was his own; for there was a certain latitude of interpretation in Paul’s style, when playing his own compositions, which he would not presume to attempt, in following the masters. Paul sang the words of some poet unknown to Clara.
“O meadow-flowers, primrose and violet!
Ye touch her dainty ankles as she moves,
But I that worship may not kiss her feet.
“O mountain airs! where unconfined float