"Was it pride," thought I, "that curled beneath those tones so flowery soft?" for there was a lurking bitterness I had not found in _him_. "Not younger than this one;" he took my hand and spread it across his knee. "These fingers are to weave the azure ribbon next." "He is coming, I know, but is not come; his name is upon the books. I hope he will not be an out-Cecilian, because I should like to know him, and we cannot know very well those who do not reside within the walls." "He is one of my very friendly ones. Will you also be very friendly with him?" "I always will. Be friendly now!" and she smiled upon me an instant, very soon letting fall her eyes, in which I then detected a Spanish droop of the lids, though, when raised, her glance dispelled the notion, for the brightness there shone all unshorn by the inordinate length of the lashes, and I never saw eyes so light, with lashes so defined and dark. "So, sir, this azure ribbon which you admire is also to be woven for him?" she continued, as if to prolong the conversation. "Not if symbols are to be the order of the day, for, Carlomein, your color is not _blue_." "No, sir; it is violet, you said." "We say _blue violets_." "Yes, sir," she responded quickly. "So we say the blue sky at night; but how different at night and by day! The violet holds the blue, but also that deeper soul by the blue alone made visible. All sounds seem to sleep in one, when that is the violin." "You are speaking too well; it makes me afraid you will be disappointed," I said in my first surprise. Then, feeling I had blundered, "I mean in me." "That would make no difference. Music is, and is eternal. We cannot add one moment to its eternity, nor by our inaptitude diminish the proper glory of our art. Is it not so, sir?" she inquired of him. Like a little child somewhat impatient over a morning lesson, he shook his hair back and sprang upon his feet. "I wish you to show me the garden before I go: is this where you walk? And where is the Raphael?" "That is placed in the conservatory, by order of Monsieur Milans-André." "Monsieur myself will have it moved. Why in the conservatory, I wonder? It should be _at home_, I think." "It does look very well there to-day, as it is hung with its peculiar garland,--the white roses." "Yes, the angel-roses. Oh, come, see, let us go to the angel-roses!" and he ran down the bank of grass, and over the lawn among the people.