Elizabeth had forgotten all around her--she heard only him, saw only
him; her whole soul lay in the glances with which she observed him, and
around her mouth played one of those bewitching smiles peculiar to her
in moments of joy and satisfaction, and which her courtiers knew and
observed.
He was very handsome, this young singer, and as Elizabeth saw him in
this moment, she congratulated herself that her connoisseur-glance had
quickly remarked him, when, some weeks previously, she had first seen
him as the precentor of the imperial chapel.
Surprised and excited by the beauty of his form and the sweetness of
his voice, Elizabeth had begged him of the lord-marshal for her private
service, and since then Alexis Razumovsky had entered her house as her
private secretary and the manager of her small estate.
While Alexis was singing with his sweetly-melting tones, Elizabeth
turned her swimming eyes to the two men who were standing in respectful
silence behind her.
"You must acknowledge," said she in a low tone, and as if oppressed by
internal commotion, "that you never saw nor heard say any thing finer
than my Alexis."
"Oh, yes," said one of these men, with a low bow, "we have seen _you_!"
"And did we not yesterday hear you sing this same charming slumber-song,
princess?" asked the other.
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