"We are not all alike because we are one. Can there be music without many combinations, and they each of many single sounds?" Mirandos was putting on the pedal, and we paused at this moment, as he paused before the _attacca_. Santonio still remained in the doorway, and Davy was standing in the window against the crimson curtain, listening, and quite white with distress at the performance; for the keys every now and then jangled furiously, and a storm of _arpeggi_ seemed to endanger the very existence of the fragile wires. Suddenly a young lady swept past Santonio, and glanced at Davy in passing into our retreat. Santonio, of course, did not move an inch; certainly there was just room enough to clear him! But Davy fell back into the folds of the curtain, frowning, not at the young lady, but at the fantasia. It was Miss Lawrence; and lo! before I could well recognize her, she stepped up to me and said, without a bow or any introductory flourish, "Are you Mr. Davy's pupil?" "We are both, ma'am," I answered foolishly, half indicating Miss Benette, who was bending her lashes into the firelight. Miss Lawrence replied lightly, yet seriously,-- "Oh, I know _she_ is, but you first, because I knew you again." I gazed upon her at this crisis. She had a peculiar face, dark yet soft; and her eye was very fine, large, and half closed, but not at all languid. Her forehead spread wide beneath jetty hair as smooth as glass, and her mouth was very satirical,--capable of sweetness, as such mouths alone are, though the case is often reversed. How satirical are some expressions that slumber in sweetness too exquisite to gaze on! And as for this young lady's manner, very easy was she, yet so high as to be unapproachable, unless she first approached you. Her accent was polished, or her address would have been somewhat brusque; as it was, it only required, not requested, a reply. She went on all this time, though,-- "I saw you in the chorus at the festival, and I watched you well; and I saw you run out and return with that water-glass I envied you in bearing. I hope you thought yourself enviable?" "I certainly did not, because I could not think of myself at all." "That is best! Now will you--that is, can you--tell me who the conductor was?" I forgot who she was, and imploringly my whole heart said, "Oh, do pray tell us! We have tried and tried to find out, and no one knows." "No one knows, but I _will_ know!" and she shook impatiently the rich coral _négligée_ that hung about her throat. Again, with much bitterness in her tones, she resumed, "I think it was cruel and unjust besides not to tell us, that we at least might have thanked him. Even poor St. Michel was groaning over his ignorance of such a personage,--if indeed he be a wight, and not a sprite. I shall find a witch next." "Thoné!" I whispered to Clara, and her lips parted to smile, but she looked not up. And now a young man came in, out of the company, to look for Miss Lawrence.