In comparison with this coruscating dome of the infinite the earth had shrunken to a narrow black band of velvet, in which was nothing distinguishable until suddenly the sky-line broke in calm silhouettes of spruce and firs. And always the mighty River of the Moose, gleaming, jewelled, barbaric in its reflections, slipped by to the sea. So rapid and bewildering was the motion of these two great powers--the river and the sky--that the imagination could not believe in silence. It was as though the earth were full of shoutings and of tumults. And yet in reality the night was as still as a tropical evening. The wolves and the sledge-dogs answered each other undisturbed; the beautiful songs of the white-throats stole from the forest as divinely instinct as ever with the spirit of peace. Virginia leaned against the railing and looked upon it all. Her heart was big with emotions, many of which she could not name; her eyes were full of tears. Something had changed in her since yesterday, but she did not know what it was. The faint wise stars, the pale moon just sinking, the gentle south breeze could have told her, for they are old, old in the world's affairs. Occasionally a flash more than ordinarily brilliant would glint one of the bronze guns beneath the flag-staff. Then Virginia's heart would glint too. She imagined the reflection startled her. She stretched her arms out to the night, embracing its glories, sighing in sympathy with its meaning, which she did not know. She felt the desire of restlessness; yet she could not bear to go. But no thought of the stranger touched her, for you see as yet she did not understand. Then, quite naturally, she heard his voice in the darkness close to her knee. It seemed inevitable that he should be there; part of the restless, glorious night, part of her mood. She gave no start of surprise, but half closed her eyes and leaned her fair head against a pillar of the veranda. He sang in a sweet undertone an old _chanson_ of voyage. _"Par derrier' chez mon pere, Vole, mon coeur, vole! Par derrier' chez mon pere Li-ya-t-un pommier doux."_ "Ah lady, lady mine," broke in the voice softly, "the night too is sweet, soft as thine eyes. Will you not greet me?" The girl made no sign. After a moment the song went on. _"Trois filles d'un prince, Vole, mon coeur, vole! Trois filles d'un prince Sont endormies dessous."_ "Will not the princess leave her sisters of dreams?" whispered the voice, fantastically. "Will she not come?" Virginia shivered, and half-opened her eyes, but did not stir. It seemed that the darkness sighed, then became musical again. _"La plus jeun' se reveille, Vole, mon coeur, vole! La plus jeun' se reveille --Ma Soeur, voila le jour!"_ The song broke this time without a word of pleading. The girl opened her eyes wide and stared breathlessly straight before her at the singer.