Then, quite naturally, she heard his voice in the darkness close to
her knee. It seemed inevitable that he should be there; part of
the restless, glorious night, part of her mood. She gave no start
of surprise, but half closed her eyes and leaned her fair head
against a pillar of the veranda. He sang in a sweet undertone an
old chanson of voyage.

"Par derrier ches man pere,
Vole, mon coeur, vole!
Par derrier' chez mon pere
Li-ya-t-un, pommier doux."

"Ah lady, lady mine," broke in the voice softly, "the night too is
sweet, soft as thine eyes. Will you not greet me?"

The girl made no sign. After a moment the song went on,

"Trois filles d'un prince,
Vole, mon coeur, vole!
Trois filles d'un prince
Sont endormies dessous."

"Will not the princess leave her sisters of dreams?" whispered the
voice, fantastically, "Will she not come?"

Virginia shivered, and half-opened her eyes, but did not stir. It
seemed that the darkness sighed, then became musical again.

"La plus jeun' se reveille,
Vole, mon coeur, vole!