Au Ministere de la Guerre
On le r'porta comme perdu.
"On se r'noncait a r'trouver sa trace,
Quand un matin subitement,
On le vit r'paraitre sur la place,
L'Colonel toujours en avant."
I waited until the last note had died away in the darkness.
"Are those your thoughts?" I asked then, half turning.
"No," said Desiree, "but I want to kill my thoughts. As for
them--"
She hesitated, and after a short pause her voice again broke
into melody:
"Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail
That brings our friends up from the underworld;
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more."
Her voice, subdued and low, breathed a sweetness that seemed
almost to be of another world. My ear quivered with the
vibrations, and long after she was silent the last mellow note
floated through my brain.
Suddenly I became conscious of another sound, scarcely less
musical. It, too, was low; so low and faint that at first I
thought my ear deceived me, or that some distant echo was
returning Desiree's song down the dark tunnel.
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