La plus jeun' se reveille
--Ma Soeur, voila le jour!

The song broke this time without a word of pleading. The girl
opened her eyes wide and stared breathlessly straight before her at
the singer.

"--Non, ce n'est qu'une etoile,
Vole, mon coeur, vole!
Non, ce n'est qu'une etoile
Qu' eclaire nos amours!"

The last word rolled out through its passionate throat tones and
died into silence.

"Come!" repeated the man again, this time almost in the accents of
command.

She turned slowly and went to him, her eyes childlike and
frightened, her lips wide, her face pale. When she stood face to
face with him she swayed and almost fell.

"What do you want with me?" she faltered, with a little sob.

The man looked at her keenly, laughed, and exclaimed in an
every-day, matter-of-fact voice:

"Why, I really believe my song frightened you. It is only a
boating song. Come, let us go and sit on the gun-carriages and
talk."