But immediately he was ashamed
of his outburst. "Ah, Mademoiselle, you have tricked me; you
have found the vulnerable part in my armor. I have spoken like a
child. Permit me to apologize for my apparent lack of breeding."
He rose, bowed, and made as though to depart.
"Sit down, Monsieur," she said, picking up her French again. "I
forgive you. I do more; I admire. I see that your freak had
nothing behind it but mischief. No woman need fear a man who
colors when his country is made the subject of a jest."
All his anger evaporated. This was an invitation, and he
accepted it. He resumed his seat.
"The truth is, as I remarked, I was lonesome. I know that I have
committed a transgression, but the veil tempted me."
"It is of no matter. A few moments, and you will be gone. I am
waiting for some one. You may talk till that person comes." Her
voice was now in its natural tone; and he was convinced that if
her face were half as sweet, she must possess rare beauty. "Hush!"
as the band began to breathe forth Chopin's polonaise. They
listened until the music ceased.
"Ah !" said he rapturously, "the polonaise! When you hear it,
does there not recur to you some dream of bygone happy hours,
the sibilant murmur of fragrant night winds through the crisp
foliage, the faint call of Diana's horn from the woodlands, moon-
fairies dancing on the spider-webs, the glint of the dew on the
roses, the far-off music of the surges tossing impotently on the
sands, the forgetfulness of time and place and care, and not a
cloud 'twixt you and the heavens? Ah, the polonaise!"
"Surely you must be a poet!" declared the Veil, when this
panegyric was done.
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