"Indeed? But, mademoiselle, don't talk as if you were a hundred. I'm sure
you don't look much older than I."

"In years, perhaps, I am not so very much older; but in thought, Elsie, a
century."

"Poor Mademoiselle Laurentia, your life has been a hard one, in spite of
all its success. I don't want to intrude, but I often think you must have
had some great sorrow. Have you?"

"Yes, my dear, I have. I cannot talk of it to-night, though. No, no, not
to-night at any rate."

Elsie rather wondered why she laid such particular stress on the present
time, but did not like to pursue the subject.

"Elsie, would you like me to sing for you now?" asked Mademoiselle
Laurentia suddenly. "This garden is an inspiration."

"Yes, I should, above all things, if you feel well enough."

"Then what shall it be? Choose."

"Oh! if you please, Gounod's Slumber-song. This is just the time and
place for it."

Accordingly, with only the rippling of the fountain as an accompaniment,
the sweet clear notes rose, and the highly-trained voice of the prima
donna performed the difficult runs and trills of this most beautiful of
slumber-songs with that precision and delicacy attained by years of