her when Pina left them together the
first time; a measure of the melody trembled through the upper strings,
and then his own voice took up the words in tones breathed out so easily
that the highest never seemed to be high, nor to cost him more effort
than ordinary speech. Of all instruments the violoncello can yield notes
most like such a voice, when the bow is in a master's hand.

In Rome, at night, he may sing who will, even now: if he goes bawling
out of tune through the silent streets, though it be not from drink but
out of sheer lightness of heart, the first policeman he meets will
silence him, it is true; but if he sings well and soberly he may go on
his way rejoicing, for no watchman will hinder him. It is an ancient
right of the Italian people to sing when and where they please, by day
or night, in the certainty that tuneful singing can never give offence
nor disturb even a dying man.

So the great master of song sat in the high balcony on that June night
and let his voice float out over moon-lit Rome; and presently Ortensia
slipped from her chair and knelt before him, her hands clasped on his
knees and looking up to his face, for his magic was more enthralling now
than when it had first drawn her to him.

When he reached the end he kissed her, the last long-drawn note still
vibrating on his lips, and she felt that they were cold and trembling
when they touched hers.

'Yes,' she whispered, drawing back just enough to see his eyes in the
moonlight, 'that was the key to my window. When I heard that song I knew
you loved me already, and that I must love you too, sooner or later,
and for all my life. It is not my poor beauty that is rarer than pearls
and rubies, love, but your genius and your voice. I know what you mean
now! I like to be envied by other women because you are mine, with all
you are, you, and your fame, and everything!'

'Do you see?' Stradella laughed softly. 'You should not be angry with
people who stare at you, any more than I am with people who listen when
I sing! And I am no more jealous because Don Alberto admires you than
you should be because Queen Christina likes my singing, as she says she
does.'

'Tell me, Alessandro, is that a black wig she wears, or is it her own
hair?' asked Ortensia, pretending to be serious.

'In confidence, my love, it is a wig,' Stradella answered with extreme
gravity.

'So much the better. I am glad she admires your singing; but if it were
not a wig, perh