than Mrs. Ellison's air of forced attention instantly vanished; she seemed surprised; she listened in a wondering kind of way to the low, clear tones of the girl's voice that were so curiously sincere and penetrating and simple. Not a schoolgirl's showing off, this; but a kind of speech, that reached the heart.
"Sur la plus haute branche
Le rossignol chantait.
Chante, rossignol, chante,
Toi qui as le coeur gai.
Lui ya longtemps que je t'aime,
Jamais je ne t'oublierai."
Did she notice the soft dwelling on the r's, Vincent asked himself; and had she ever heard anything so strangely fascinating? Then the simple pathos of the story—if there was any story—
"Chante, rossignol, chante,
Toi qui as le coeur gai;
Tu as le coeur à rire,
Moi je l'ai-t-à pleurer.
Tu as le coeur à rire,
Moi j'e l'ai-t-à pleurer:
J'ai perdu ma maîtresse
Sans l'avoir mérité.
Lui ya longtemps que je t'aime,
Jamais je ne l'oublierai."
"That is enough," said Maisrie, with a smile, and she laid the violin in her lap. "It is too long. You never hear it sung altogether in Canada—only a verse here and there—or perhaps merely the refrain—"
"But is there more?—oh, please sing the rest of it—it is delightful—so quaint, and simple, and charming!" Mrs. Ellison exclaimed; and Master Vin was a proud and glad young man; he knew that Maisrie had all unaided struck home.
The girl took up her violin again, and resumed:
"J'ai perdu ma maîtresse
Sans l'avoir mérité.
Pour un bouquet de roses
Que je lui refusai.
Pour un bouquet de roses
Que je lui refusai.
Je voudrais que la rose
Fût encore au rosier.
Je voudrais que la rose
Fût encore au rosier,
Et moi et ma maîtresse
Dans les mem's amitiés.
Lui ya longtemps que je t'aime,
Jamais je ne t'oublierai!"
Well, when the singing, if it could be called singing, was over, Mrs. Ellison made the usual little compliments, which nobody minded one way or the other. But presently she had to leave; and while she was being rowed up the river by her nephew she was silent. When they reached the Villeggiatura (the people were all outside, amid the confused light of the lanterns in the dusk) she said to him, in a low voice, as she bade him good-bye—
"Vin, let me whisper something to you—a confession. Claire Fontaine has done for me. That girl is a good girl. She is all right, any way."