In the half-light of the drawing-room, the girl looked handsomer than in
the glare of evening lamps. Her dark, oriental beauty was at its best
in the subdued glow of early twilight. She was dressed in a rich but
quiet Parisian costume, and I felt that her attractiveness increased the
further she was removed from Signor Turino, Mlle. Vanoni and the other
noted artists with whom she associated. Nevertheless, I realized that
my manner was cold and unsympathetic as we seated ourselves and I
awaited her pleasure. Having had business dealings with the signorina I
was not willing to admit that she could assume the right to call on me
as a social equal.
But patrician blood must have flowed in Molatti's veins, for she sat
there silent and calm, and my skirmish line was driven back. I spoke
first. The self-confidence in the girl's smile hurt me.
"It is a pleasure, signorina, to have an opportunity I had not hoped
for, to thank you again for the great pleasure you afforded my guests
the night before last."
"But it is me, signora, who is in the debt of you," said Molatti, in her
soft, musical, broken English. "I hava coma to you to thanka you and to
ask a leetle favor. Signor Remsen! oh, eet was so wonderful--so vera
wonderful! I hava waited all my leetle life for eet."
I stared at the girl in astonishment. Her enthusiasm, her gestures, the
brilliant glow in her dark eyes offended me. And "eet!" What was
"eet," for which she had waited all her life?
"Yes?" I remarked, interrogatively. Her fervor was not cooled by the
iced water of my question mark.
"Leesten to me, signora. I hava worsheeped Chopin since I was a leetle
girl. I have heard alla the great interpretaires of the _maestro_. But
I have nevaire heard Chopin. In my dreams--_si_, signora, but nevaire
in my hours that are awake. But I cama here! Signor Remsen--he playa
Chopin! Eet was no dream. Eet was the soul of the _maestro_ speaking
to the soul of me. Eet was wonderful--so vera wonderful!"
Conflicting emotions warred within me. I hardly dared speak lest I
should either laugh or cry hysterically. With lips compressed I sat
motionless, staring at the girl, into whose eloquent eyes there had come
a pleading look that suggested tears.
"Signor Remsen," she murmured, presently, like a devotee who breathes
the name of an idol--"do you thinka, signora, that he would let me hear
him play again? Peety me, signora! I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. I
crave only the music of the _maestro_--music that I hava heard only once
in my leetle life. Signor Remsen! Eef he would permeet me--justa
once--to accompany him on my leetle violin--oh, signora, I coulda then
die happy. I should hava leeved just a leetle while, and then I would
not care. But now, I am so unhappy--so vera miserable!"
I was too nervous to stand this kind of thing any longer. I rose, and
Molatti faced me, erect at once.
"You pay my husband's talent a great compliment, signorina," I said,
coldly; "but I cannot take it on myself to answer you in his name.
However, I shall present your request to him and let you know at once
what he says." A diabolical impulse came over me, and I added: "Of
course, Mr. Remsen would not wish you to starve, signorina, nor to die a
horrible death from insomnia."
The girl spiked my guns--if that be the right expression--by a merry,
musical laugh.
"You are so vera kind!" she cried. "I kissa your lovely hand."
Before I could prevent it she had touched my outstretched hand with her
red, smiling lips; then she took her departure. I returned to the
library in a condition that verged dangerously on complete nervous
collapse.
At dinner that evening, Tom was unwontedly silent. As I glanced at him
over my soup there was something in his face that suggested thoughts not
connected with the Pepper and Salt Trust. I was soon to become
accustomed to this expression and to identify it in my mind as
"Chopinesque."
"Aren't you feeling well to-night, Tom?" I ventured presently, noting
that he was drinking more wine than usual.
"A bit tired, Winifred," he answered, absently. Then his eyes met mine,
and I saw that he was worried. I had planned to fulfill conscientiously
my promise to Signorina Molatti, but the time seemed inopportune. I was
glad, presently, that I had refrained from mentioning my caller and her
mission. As we were sipping our coffee Tom tossed an envelope across
the table to me.