The sound of her voice is about me,
The spell of her presence there.
And whether my prayer be granted,
Or whether she pass me by,
The face of that gentle maiden
Will follow me till I die.”
Brand was standing by the piano, with the light of the tall lamp on his face, and I saw that there was a wetness in his eyes before the song was ended.
“It is queer to hear that in Lille,” he said. “It’s so long since I heard a woman sing, and it’s like water to a parched soul.”
Eileen O’Connor played the last bars again and, as she played, talked softly.
“To me, the face of that gentle maiden is a friend’s face. Alice de Villers-Auxicourt, who died in prison.