Patty did not return into the shop, but began slowly to ascend the stairs, pausing at the first landing to fall into an attitude of attention, holding the balustrade and listening eagerly, as from below came the twittering of birds, and from above--in long-drawn, nerve-thrilling tones--sounds that seemed to have a strange effect upon the girl, as she stood in the full light of the landing-window, her eyes half-closed, her face upturned, and her lips parted, as though to give passage to a sigh. But there was no sigh, no utterance, no motion; only the same strained aspect of attention, as still, from above stairs, came the sounds--now low, almost to fading away, now powerful and loud--but always with the same effect, that of chaining Patty to where she stood. She might well listen as if entranced, for from above, with every note given with a feeling that seemed to find its echo in the listener's ears, came floating softly down, the melody of "Ah, non giunge!" evidently played upon a violin of fine and sonorous tone, every bar sweet, pure, and clear, and softened by the distance into a strain which seemed to have floated into the dingy house from some brighter region. Then, after a pause of a few moments, there was a change, the player turning off into a wild and eccentric variation upon the theme, now loud and sparkling in the major key--now plaintive and thrilling in the minor. But this lasted only a short time, for as Patty once more began to ascend the stairs, the violinist dashed off into a French mazurka, with such spirit and brilliancy, that the notes seemed to be trilling out in joyous laughter, setting Patty's head nodding to the gay refrain. The next minute she had opened a door and stood in the presence of the player, who put down her instrument upon the table, and moved slowly across the room to catch the young girl's extended hands, and apologise for not coming down again. Canau's room was bare and cheerless; a table, a few chairs, a couple of roughly-made music-stands, and a pile of torn, stained, yellow-leaved, printed, and manuscript music, were the principal objects that met the gaze; but Patty--whose presence lent a brightness to the blank place-- seemed to have no eye for aught but the swarthy, deformed girl, whom she kissed affectionately. Perhaps no greater contrast could have been seen than the sweet happy face of Patty, with her bright brown hair and peachy complexion--peachy with its soft down, and contrasts of creamy white and delicate pink; and that of Janet--she was known by no other name--the dark, deformed girl, who had been brought up by Monsieur Canau, the little French musician, now taking his morning promenade and indulging in his only extravagance--his second cigarette--a pinch of the commonest tobacco, rolled in one of the gummed squares of tissue-paper prepared for him by the girl who shared his poverty and had been taught his art.