"Has her voice any resemblance to--to"--de Sterny stopped short.

"Say, will you sing something for us, Bijou?" whispered Gesa to the girl, "we will not urge you, but if...."

"You would give me such great pleasure!" said de Sterny.

Making no answer, with a heavy movement, as if walking in sleep, the young girl rose, went to the spinet, and laid a sheet of music on the desk. It was the fine old romance of Martini--"plaisir d'Amour." The virtuoso instantly offered to accompany her. She nodded shyly. Softly and sadly through the shabby green chamber sounded the immortal love song, a song which the united efforts of all the female pupils in the Conservatories of Europe have not succeeded in killing.

Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un instant, Chagrin d'amour dure tonte la vie!--

She held her hands, as she had been taught, lightly laid in one another, but the delicate head, contrary to regulation, was inclined toward the right shoulder--as if it had suddenly grown heavy. Her voice sounded hollow and mournful; it trembled as if with suppressed sobs.

"She is afraid of you," said Gesa, who had come up to her side, "I don't know in the least what ails her. Usually she does not want courage. _Pauvre pet.i.te chat_"--and he stroked her hair gently.

The virtuoso's brow fell, as if it hurt him to witness these innocent caresses. He turned to Delileo.

"It is the same voice, absolutely the same voice! A wonderful likeness!

Now, mademoiselle, you will grant me just one more trifle, will you not?"

Gesa brought out from a pile of music a written sheet, and laid it on the rack. "Just do this, Annette," he urged, taking up his violin. "The song is for voice and violin," he said--"Please give me an A, de Sterny." De Sterny struck the note.

It was the "Nessun maggior dolore" from his own music to Dante's Inferno, which Gesa had laid on the music desk. A strange composition, in which the human voice swelled from soft half audible revery to bitter despairing utterance of pain, while the violin gave out a melody of penetrating sweetness, like the torturing memory of long vanished joy. Gesa's cheeks were burning as he finished the performance of this his favorite composition. De Sterny let his hands glide from the keyboard, and fixed the violinist with a sharp look, "That is yours?"

he asked.

Gesa nodded.

"Then let yourself be embraced on the spot. It is simply superb!"

It was toward eleven o'clock before de Sterny remembered that duty called him back into "the world." Gesa had shown him several more of his own compositions, and in everything the virtuoso had taken the liveliest interest.

Gesa accompanied his friend from the Rue Ravestein into the region of civilization. De Sterny was absent and silent. "Well, what do you say?"

urged his disciple, pressingly.

"You will have very great success."

"In what--in my marriage?" laughed Gesa.

"Ah your marriage!" The virtuoso started--"yes, your marriage.

Well--she is the most enchanting creature I have met since her mother.

What a voice--she could become a Malibran."

"And?"--

They were standing now at the Place Royale. "_Dieu merci_--there comes a carriage--I despaired of finding one," cried de Sterny.

"Adieu,--bring me the whole of your 'Inferno' to-morrow,--auf Wiedersehen!"

With this he sprang into the fiacre which had stopped at a sign from him, and rolled away.

In the Rue Ravestein that evening there was a great deal to talk about.

Old Delileo, whose cheeks glowed as if he had been drinking champagne, was very loquacious. Gesa confided to Annette word for word, de Sterny's flattering judgment upon her, but she showed herself nervous and irritable like a child too early waked from sleep. She complained that she had sung badly. She who had always so kindly indulged the garrulity of her poor old father, scarcely listened to him, even made impatient little grimaces, and said his way of walking up and down put her beside herself. When the old man sat down with a hurt air, then she broke into tears and begged his forgiveness.

Gesa drew her onto his knees, dried her tears, and quieted her with playful caresses. "She lives too isolated; the least thing excites her, father?" said he, stroking her cheek. "We must find some amus.e.m.e.nt for her."

The "droewige Herr," looked down gloomily.

About three o'clock de Sterny mounted the stairs of his hotel. He had been honored and flattered exactly as much as ever, but he felt out of spirits.

"Every street urchin knows my name now, and the crossing sweepers show each other the celebrated de Sterny when I pa.s.s. But when I die, what will remain of me! Nothing but a few wretched piano pieces, which they will laugh at after my death."

The songs of the violinist rang in his ears. He shivered. He thought of the beautiful girl, and pa.s.sed his hand across his forehead.

"Hm!--the danger of a quiet family life does not threaten him from that quarter. She sleeps as yet; but she has inherited all the pa.s.sionateness of her mother and all the nervousness of her father. How beautiful she is! How beautiful!"

XIV

It was about this time that de Sterny began to be restlessly ambitious.

His playing changed. He began to take on affectations. He began to pound. This enraptured the ma.s.ses; the critics p.r.o.nounced it "a magnificent development," and he himself was disgusted.

An icy crust covered the gutter in the Rue Ravestein, long icicles hung from the arms of the great crucifix, and on the windows of the little green salon the frost painted his chilly flowers; but Annette's hands were always hot now, and her lips burning red. Her walk had grown slow and careless, her movements dreamy and gliding. Her eyes gazed into the distance. Instead of teasing wilfulness, or childlike winningness, she met her lover with apathetic compliance, sometimes with repellent irritation. Then would come hours when she hung upon him pa.s.sionately, begged him with tears not to be angry with her, and seemed as though she could not show him love and tenderness enough.

He did not ponder very deeply over her strange contradictory nature, but simply forgave her, as a sick child.

One evening, when he and his foster-father were involved in one of their endless talks about music and literature, Annette, who had sat meanwhile, reserved and silent, leaning back in a corner of the stiff horse-hair sofa, suddenly raised her head and listened. Some one knocked at the door: neither Gesa nor Delileo paid any attention.

"Entrez," cried Annette, breathlessly. The door opened. "Do I disturb you?"--said an amiable voice, and Alphonso de Sterny entered.

Several days later, Gesa, returning from his lessons to the Rue Ravestein, remarked, "Strange, Annette, it smells of amber,--has de Sterny been here?"

"He brought us tickets for his next concert," she replied without looking at her lover.

"Dear Friend:--I have something to say to you--come to me to-morrow, if possible.

"Sterny."

Gesa found this note one evening in his apartment. Next morning, when he dutifully presented himself at the Hotel de Flandres, de Sterny received him with the question--"Would you like to earn a great deal of money?"

"How can you doubt it! You know how pressingly I need money. Can it be an opportunity offers for disposing of my 'Inferno,'" cried Gesa.

"Not yet--but something else offers. I received a telegram yesterday.

Winansky has broken an arm--Marinski, in consequence, needs a violinist of the first rank and offers ten thousand francs a month and expenses.