A few moments before, under Graciella's
vigorous hands, it had seemed to protest at the dissonances it had
been compelled to emit; now it seemed to breathe the notes of the old
opera with an almost human love and tenderness. It, too, mused the
colonel, had lived and loved and was recalling the memories of a
brighter past.
The music died into silence. Mrs. Treadwell was awake.
"Laura!" she called.
Miss Treadwell went to the door.
"I must have been nodding for a minute. I hope Colonel French did not
observe it--it would scarcely seem polite. He hasn't gone yet?"
"No, mother, he is in the parlour."
"I must be going," said the colonel, who came to the door. "I had
almost forgotten Phil, and it is long past his bedtime."
Miss Laura went to wake up Phil, who had fallen asleep after supper.
He was still rubbing his eyes when the lady led him out.
"Wake up, Phil," said the colonel. "It's time to be going. Tell the
ladies good night."
Graciella came running up the walk.
"Why, Colonel French," she cried, "you are not going already? I made
the others leave early so that I might talk to you."
"My dear young lady," smiled the colonel, "I have already risen to go,
and if I stayed longer I might wear out my welcome, and Phil would
surely go to sleep again. But I will come another time--I shall stay
in town several days."
"Yes, _do_ come, if you _must_ go," rejoined Graciella with emphasis.
"I want to hear more about the North, and about New York society
and--oh, everything! Good night, Philip.
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