"You think--you think that perhaps it is something in him of which he is
unconscious which does so much for me?"

"Perhaps it is."

Valentine now glided into an accompaniment, and began to sing. And
the doctor and Julian ceased to talk. Valentine certainly did not sing
with such peculiar skill as he showed in playing, but he had a charming
voice which he used with great ease, and he never sang a single note,
or phrased a passage, without complete intelligence and understanding
of his composer. Only he lacked power. This scarcely interfered with the
pleasure he could give in a drawing-room, and to-night both Levillier and
Julian were rather in a mood for supreme delicacy than for great passion.
They listened with silent pleasure for a time. Then Levillier said:

"Do you remark how wonderfully the timbre of Cresswell's voice expresses
the timbre of his mind? The parallel is exact."

Julian nodded.

"That is his soul written in sound," the doctor added.

It was at this point that Valentine ceased and got up from the piano.

"I must smoke too," he said. "No, not a cigar, I'll have a cigarette
to-night."

"You are fond of that picture, Cresswell?" said Doctor Levillier as
Valentine sat down.