At last I stopped, and opened the
door; and there, crouching down, I found the most beautiful little creature
I had ever seen in my life. It was the child of my neighbour. Yes,
Monsieur! you divine, you divine! That was the Leonora!'
'And she is not your compatriot,' I asked.
'A Hungarian? ah, no! yet every piece of her pure Slav. But I weary you,
Monsieur; I make a long story.'
I protested my interest; and after a little side glance of dubious
scrutiny, he continued in a constrained monotone, as one who told over to
himself some rosary of sad enchanting memories.
'Ah, yes! she was beautiful; that mysterious, sad Slavonic beauty! a thing
quite special and apart. And, as a child, it was more tragical and strange;
that dusky hair! those profound and luminous eyes! seeming to mourn over
tragedies they have never known. A strange, wild, silent child! She might
have been eight or nine, then; but her little soul was hungry for music. It
was a veritable passion; and when she became at last my good friend, she
told me how often she had lain for long hours outside my door, listening to
my violin. I gave her a kind of scolding, such as one could to so beautiful
a little creature, for the passage was draughty and cold, and sent her away
with some _bon-bons_.
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