"Oh, my lady, you must be mistaken!" Elise began to say; but then she stopped in confusion. Some one was playing the piano, and the strong, full, melodious notes, struck by a practiced hand, echoed melodiously through the house.
"I'm not deaf, Mam'selle Elise," said her mistress, scornfully. "Some one is playing the piano. Hark, it is the grand march from 'Norma!' I thought all of the people had gone to the picnic."
"So they have, my lady—every soul of them."
"Then who is that playing in the drawing-room?—tell me that!" snapped the peevish old lady.
"Indeed I don't know, Lady Lancaster," answered the maid, truthfully.
"Then make it your business to find out—go and see," was the peremptory command; and Elise without any more ado obeyed it.
"I did not know that there was a woman in the house who could wake the soul in the piano like that," said Lady Lancaster to herself, when the girl was gone. "What a touch! What grand notes! Who is it that has been hiding her talents in a napkin? Not Lady Adela! She is fast enough to show all the accomplishments she possesses. So are all the other women, for that matter. Modesty is not one of their failings."
And she waited most impatiently for Elise to return. She was both curious and angry. She was angry because her nap had been brought to an untimely end, and she was curious to know who had done it.
It seemed to her that the maid stayed a long time. The march from "Norma" was finished, and the unknown musician had struck into another piece—a melancholy fugue—before the girl came flying back with upraised hands and dilated eyes, exclaiming: