"I shall sing to you some gay French chansons," said Coralie, "and we
will leave the door open so that Clare may hear them."
A few moments later and I was in an atmosphere of delight. The rich,
sweet music rose and fell; it cheered me like strong wine.
Then after a time its character changed; it was no longer gay,
triumphant and mirthful. The very spirit of love and pathos seemed to
breathe through it. My heart beat; every nerve thrilled; every sense
answered to these sweet, soft words.
It ceased then, and Coralie came over to the bay-window. She sat down
upon the Turkish curtains, and looked with longing eyes at the light on
the trees and flowers. There was a softened expression on her face, a
flush as of awakened emotion, a new and brighter light in those dark,
dangerous eyes. The white fingers trembled, the white bosom heaved as
though she had felt deeply the words she had been singing.
Then it was said she would rather be mistress of Crown Anstey than Queen
of Great Britain.
I laughed, not knowing what to say.
"Crown Anstey ought to thank you very much," I said. "You pay it a great
compliment.
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