When they had returned into the saloon, Maisrie took up her violin; and Mrs. Ellison bravely endeavoured to assume an air of interested expectancy. The fact was she disliked the whole proceeding; here would be some mere exhibition of a schoolgirl’s showy accomplishments; she would have to say nice things; and she hated telling lies—when nothing was to be gained. Maisrie made some little apology; but said that perhaps Mrs. Ellison had not heard the _Claire Fontaine_, which is a favourite song of the Canadians. Then she drew her bow across the strings. Vincent need not have been so anxious. Hardly had Maisrie begun with "_A la claire fontaine,_ _M’en allant promener—_" than Mrs. Ellison’s air of forced attention instantly vanished; she seemed surprised; she listened in a wondering kind of way to the low, clear tones of the girl’s voice that were so curiously sincere and penetrating and simple. Not a schoolgirl’s showing off, this; but a kind of speech, that reached the heart. "_Sur la plus haute branche_ _Le rossignol chantait._ _Chante, rossignol, chante,_ _Toi qui as le coeur gai._ _Lui ya longtemps que je t’aime,_ _Jamais je ne t’oublierai._" Did she notice the soft dwelling on the _r_’s, Vincent asked himself; and had she ever heard anything so strangely fascinating? Then the simple pathos of the story—if there was any story— "_Chante, rossignol, chante,_ _Toi qui as le coeur gai;_ _Tu as le coeur à rire,_ _Moi je l’ai-t-à pleurer._ _Tu as le coeur à rire,_ _Moi j’e l’ai-t-à pleurer:_ _J’ai perdu ma maîtresse_ _Sans l’avoir mérité._ _Lui ya longtemps que je t’aime,_ _Jamais je ne l’oublierai._" "That is enough," said Maisrie, with a smile, and she laid the violin in her lap. "It is too long. You never hear it sung altogether in Canada—only a verse here and there—or perhaps merely the refrain—" "But is there more?—oh, please sing the rest of it—it is delightful—so quaint, and simple, and charming!" Mrs. Ellison exclaimed; and Master Vin was a proud and glad young man; he knew that Maisrie had all unaided struck home. The girl took up her violin again, and resumed: "_J’ai perdu ma maîtresse_ _Sans l’avoir mérité._ _Pour un bouquet de roses_ _Que je lui refusai._ _Pour un bouquet de roses_ _Que je lui refusai._ _Je voudrais que la rose_ _Fût encore au rosier._ _Je voudrais que la rose_ _Fût encore au rosier,_ _Et moi et ma maîtresse_ _Dans les mem’s amitiés._ _Lui ya longtemps que je t’aime,_ _Jamais je ne t’oublierai!_"