Even the veteran card-players
left a game of whist unfinished, to cluster round the angelic
singer.
Pierre Philibert sat like one in a trance. He loved music, and
understood it passing well. He had heard all the rare voices which
Paris prided itself in the possession of, but he thought he had
never known what music was till now. His heart throbbed in sympathy
with every inflection of the voice of Amelie, which went through him
like a sweet spell of enchantment. It was the voice of a
disembodied spirit singing in the language of earth, which changed
at last into a benediction and good-night for the parting guests,
who, at an earlier hour than usual, out of consideration for the
fatigue of their hosts, took their leave of the Manor House and its
hospitable inmates.
The family, as families will do upon the departure of their guests,
drew up in a narrower circle round the fire, that blessed circle of
freedom and confidence which belongs only to happy households. The
novelty of the situation kept up the interest of the day, and they
sat and conversed until a late hour.
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