As the glasses were filled
and refilled again, the scene took color from the sparkling goblets.
Voices were raised to a higher pitch. Shrill or boisterous laughter rang
out, as jest and story went the rounds. It was Mrs. Taine, now, rather
than her husband, who dominated the scene. With cheeks flushed and eyes
bright she set the pace, nor permitted any laggards.
Conrad Lagrange watched, cool and cynical--his worn face twisted into a
mocking smile; his keen, baffling eyes, from under their scowling brows,
seeing all, understanding all. Aaron King, weary with the work of the past
days, endured--wishing it was over.
The evening was well under way when Mrs. Taine held up her hand. In the
silence, she said, "Listen! I have a real treat for you, to-night,
friends. Listen!" As she spoke the last word, her eyes met the eyes of the
artist, in mocking, challenging humor. He was wondering what she meant,
when,--from behind that screen of flowers,--soft and low, poignantly sweet
and thrilling in its purity of tone, came the music of the violin that he
had learned to know so well.
Instantly, the painter understood. Mrs. Taine had employed Sibyl Andres to
play for her guests that evening; thinking to tease the artist by
presenting his mountain comrade in the guise of a hired servant.
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