He held the velveteen cap in his hands, playing with it, caressing it, watching her. "Look at me, Kaya!"
She flushed and drew back, her heart beating in little throbs under the vest. Suddenly she turned and looked at him squarely. It was strange, whenever their eyes met, like a thrill, a shock, an ecstasy; and then a slow returning to consciousness as after a blow.
All at once, she drooped her lashes and began to trill, softly, faintly, like a bird, the tones clear, and sweet, and high; and as she sang, she glanced at him under her lashes, with her head on one side. The voice pulsed and grew in her throat, swelling out; then she softened it quickly with a look over her shoulder, half fearfully, and again it soared to a high note, trilling, lingering and dropping at last.
Her mouth scarcely opened. The sound seemed to come through the arch of her lips, every note pure, and sweet, and soft like a breath. Velasco bent over entranced.
"How you sing!" he cried, "Like some beautiful bird! In Italy, on the shores of the lakes, I have heard the nightingales sing like that; but never a woman. The timbre is crystal and pure, like clear, running water. When you soar to the heights, it is like a lark flying; and when you drop into alt, it is a tone that forces the tears to one's eyes, so pathetic and strange. Who taught you, Kaya? Who taught you to sing like that? Or were you born so with a voice alive in your throat; you had only to open it and let it come out?"
She shook her head, swinging her feet, trying to laugh.
"It is so small," she said wistfully. "You are a musician, Monsieur Velasco, and I—I know nothing of music. No—I will pass the cap for pennies. Give it to me. Is it getting late, must we go?"
She took the cap and put it on her head, on the back of her curls, avoiding his eyes. "Will that do for a gypsey? Is it straight—Velasco?" She said the name quite low and breathed hurriedly, with a flush on her cheeks.
He was still staring at her, but he said nothing; he made no motion and she drew away from him a little frightened.
"You are like a violin," he murmured, "I told you you were like a violin. You are all music, as I am music. We will make music together—Kaya. Sing for me again, just open your lips and breathe—once more! Let me hear you trill?"