"Our misfortunes pa.s.s all conception. But do not let us speak of it.

How is it, madame, that you go to Warsaw?"

"From curiosity only," replied she, lowering her eyes. "It is possible also that I may sing in some theatre."

"Oh! You are sure to be admirably received. Colonel Nauke is very fond of Italian music, and as soon as he knows"--

"You will introduce me to him?"

"I, madame, it is impossible! I shall be obliged to conceal myself. To be seen would be for me death or exile."

"If I could at least meet you there!"

Ivas sadly shook his head. The Dane, very attentive to the conversation, concluded that she intended to leave the Russian, who, of course, as he was a refugee, could not return to the land of the Czars.

This idea did honour to his acquaintance with political geography, of which nearly all European journalists are absolutely ignorant.

"And you go alone?" asked he.

"No, not alone. But, monsieur, you annoy me with your questions. Really I do not know yet what I shall do, and I do not like to speak of the future. That will be accomplished in one way or another. _Chi lo sa?_"

"I am ready to follow you to the end of the world!" cried her cosmopolite adorer enthusiastically.

"You are jesting, monsieur, and I do not like jests of this kind. In any case, I do not count on you as a companion."

"What a pity that she is so savage!" said her admirer to himself.

The Russian listened pa.s.sively, without mingling in the conversation.

"I am very curious to visit Poland and Russia," said Lucie Coloni. "They say that the Poles and Russians understand and love music, that they are enthusiastic dilettanti."

"There have been such instances in Poland," said Jacob. "In regard to Russia I know nothing. But monsieur can tell us that in his country they love art less than the artistes. In Poland there is now room only for a single sentiment. The future has but one aim. Do the witches of Shakespeare watch at the dark cross-roads, or will the angels lend their aid? G.o.d alone knows. From Warta to the frozen sea the earth is in travail, hearts beat with violence, the battle is preparing, there will be something frightful which will shake the very foundations of the earth. What song, sweet though it be, can be heard by ears which await a signal which will sound like a thunderclap?"

"Perhaps," said Lucie, "I shall have the happiness of singing your song of triumph."

"Or a death hymn," added Jacob sadly.

"Or rather a song intermezzo which makes one forget the tragedy of life," replied la Coloni. "I grant to you that this Europe, cold, dull, dead, worn out, _blase_, has for me the effect of a withered bouquet picked up out of the dust. It has no longer a spark of vitality."

"Behold a sally that astonishes me, coming from you," cried the Dane.

"Europe when she was young was frolicsome; maturity has arrived, but has not taken away all her charms. To-day children are born reasonable.

The young man of nineteen has a drunkard's pride to drain the enormous cup to the bottom. More barriers on life's grand highway! More toll-money! Go where you will, paths open before you. More proscriptions, more laws, more prejudices, binding us. Fresh surprises!

Everything is possible."

"And nothing is worth much; nothing is good," added Lucie.

"Madame," cried the Italian musician, "before continuing your invective, deign to hear me."

"Very willingly, monsieur."

"Will you then be seated? My companion and I are children of two parts of Italy which have not yet united with their common mother. We seek a little relaxation after a long servitude. Very well. We cannot take a step without being persecuted by politics, political economy, or philosophy. Have pity on us, and speak of other things."

"Spoiled child of Italy," said the Dane, "your prayer cannot be granted. Our age takes her nourishment where it is found. It is useless to try to hinder me."

"Cannot we discuss music?"

"Music! She has followed the general route, and the music of the future, with her prophet, Wagner, is political music."

"Granted. And the other arts?"

"They cannot be separated from philosophy and history."

"Then let us speak of frivolities, of the times, of the weather, of the city we are visiting; remember I am young, and an artist."

"There are no more young hearts," said Jacob.

"What remains then for those who thirst for life?"

"Nothing," replied the Dane quickly, in a serious tone; "only to drink."

"And afterward?"

"Afterward? That depends on the temperament; to sleep or"--

During this conversation, the evening breeze brought from a neighbouring house the sound of sweet music, now gay, now sad. They all listened. It was not Italian music. A young and sympathetic voice sang, accompanied by the piano. The song was of profound sadness, rendered with good expression and method.

The Italian instantly recognized an inspiration of Mendelssohn. He took off his hat, and listened with an expression of pleasure. He took a few steps, and, with a sign, demanded silence.

In contrast to the light songs of Italy, full of harmony, this song was full of grave majesty. For the Italian who had not heard much German music it was a revelation.

The mysterious chords, coming from an unknown window, from an invisible mouth, had a fascinating charm and a melodious sadness, which made a lively impression. The woman's voice came from a house near the Academy of Medicine, and was carried to our hearers by the indiscreet breeze.

"It is fine," said the Dane, "but it is somewhat like the music of the future."

"Be silent, then, monsieur," said Lucie severely. "It is wonderful."

At that moment the song gradually grew fainter, and finally died away.

The accompaniment ceased also with a few majestic chords.

They all drew near the house whence came the melody, and in the general preoccupation no one observed that Jacob grew pale, and seemed to recognize the voice. He pressed his hand against his side as if in pain. His emotion was almost terrifying, and his features had changed so as to be hardly recognizable.

Ivas perceived his friend's emotion.

"What is the matter?" asked he anxiously. "Has the music impressed you thus?"

The Jew, distrait and silent, thanked him for his solicitude, and motioned for him to be silent.

"Listen; perhaps she will sing again," said Lucie.