"Why did you give the Marseillaise last?"
"It has the tramp in it of marching men—I love it."
"But why not the 'Star Spangled Banner'?"
"That's for sacred moments. I hate to make it common—but I'll sing it—now—"
Still standing, he listened. Drusilla held her voice to that low note, but there was the crash of battle in the music that she made, the hush of dawn, the cry of victory—
"Dear girl, you are a genius."
"No, I am not. But I can feel things—and I can make others feel—"
She rose and went to the window. "There's a new moon," she said, "come and see—"
The curtains were not drawn, and the apartment was high up, so that they looked out beyond the hills to a sky in which the daylight blue had faded to a faint green, and saw the little moon and one star.
"Derry," Drusilla said, softly. "Derry, why aren't you fighting?"