“Faith! I can’t help it,” thought Edmond; “he can be angry, if he chooses, but I can’t decline the invitation of these ladies, and deprive myself of the happiness of passing the day with the girl I adore. No, indeed! and Freluchon, in my place, would do the same. Besides, between friends there ought to be no formality.”
Agathe did not appear. Hoping to find her in the salon, Edmond went there; but the ladies had not finished dressing. The young man took his seat at the piano, turned over the leaves of several songs, then yielded to the temptation to sing. Edmond sang very well; his voice was sweet and well modulated, and he had in addition taste and expression, which constitute the greatest charm of every person who sings; moreover, he accentuated the words perfectly; when he sang you did not lose a syllable; and it is so uninteresting to listen and not understand!
The lovely song called the Val d’Andore was on the piano. Whether it was that the thought that he was at Agathe’s piano, or his pleasure in knowing that he was near her, had augmented his powers, certain it is that the young man had never sung so well, that his voice had never been so sweet and pure. And the two friends, who, after completing their toilet, had returned to the salon, stood at the door to listen, and did not move a muscle for fear of losing a word.
But Agathe flushed and turned pale alternately as she listened to that melodious voice, which went to her very heart.
“Oh! how beautifully he sings!” she whispered; “oh! my dear! what a voice!”
“Hush!”
Agathe was silent; but a moment later two great tears rolled down her cheeks. Honorine saw them and touched the girl’s arm.
“Upon my word!” she whispered, “you are crying now. What does this mean?”
“I don’t know, my dear friend! I don’t know what the matter is; but I am very happy!”
“Will you be kind enough to wipe your eyes and not show how susceptible you are to music. Really, I am almost sorry that we invited this young man to dinner.”