was Marie's life and soul; and she let come down from Paris a great
teacher, and they all played together, the Countess his friend, for
many years his pupil, and the great violinist, and Marie, the little
peasant girl in her blue gown and cap. He said she was a born
musician, Marie: of course, he was able to see things, being of the
same nature; but Mere Jeanne was unhappy, and said no good would come
of it. Yes, well, what is to be, you know, that will be, and nossing
else. The great teacher died, and there was an end of him. And after
a while Monsieur the Count came home, and carried away the Countess to
live in Paris, and so--and--so--that was all!

"But not all!" cried the child, springing from her seat, and raising
her head, which had drooped for a moment. "Not all! for I have the
music, see, Abiroc! All days of my life I can make music, make happy,
make joy of myself and ozerbodies. When I take her; Madame, so, in my
hand, I can do what I will, no? People have glad thinks, sorry thinks;
what Marie tells them to have, that have they. _Ah! la tonne aventure,
oh gai_!" and she would throw her head back and begin to play, and play
till the chairs almost danced on their four legs.

De Arthenay never heard the fiddle. Abby managed it somehow, she
hardly knew how or why. He had never spoken about the Evil Thing, as
he would have called it, since that first day; perhaps he thought that
Abby had taken it away, as a pious church member should, and destroyed
it from the face of the earth. At all events there was no mention of
it, and the only sound he heard when he approached the house was the
whir of Abby's wheel (for women still spun then, in that part of the
country), or the one voice he cared to hear in the world, uplifted in
some light godless song.