But to Pépin even the dazzling novelty of his surroundings was as nothing, compared to one object which drew and fixed his attention from the first instant, as the needle is held rigid by the magnetic pole. High up upon the tree, clearly outlined against its background of deep green, and gleaming gorgeously with fresh varnish in the light of the surrounding candles, hung a violin--not one like Monsieur Pazzini's, large and of a dull brown, but small--a violin for Pépin himself to hold, and new, and bright, and beyond all things beautiful and to be desired! Then his attention was distracted for a moment. From the time of his entrance the eyes of Miss Lys had followed the dignified and silent little Frenchman, and where Miss Lys went Mr. Sedgely followed, so that now the two were so close that they brushed his elbow, and Pépin, turning with an instinctive "Pardon," saw that they were watching him curiously. When, with a feeling of restlessness under their scrutiny, he looked once more towards the tree, the violin was gone! An instant later, he saw it in the madly sawing hands of George Hamilton, dancing like a faun down the room, and he was conscious of a great faintness, such as he had known but once before,--when he had cut his hand, and the doctor had sewed it, as Elizabeth sewed rips in cloth. "He is adorable," said Ethel Lys, "but I have never seen a sadder face. What eyes!--two brown poems." "He makes my heart ache," answered Sedgely, slowly, "and yet I could hardly say why. Ask him what he wants off the tree." The girl was on her knees by Pépin before the phrase was fairly finished. "What didst thou have for Christmas?" she asked, falling unconsciously into that tender second singular which slips so naturally from the lips at sight of a French child. "I?--but nothing," replied the little Vicomte, pleased out of his anguish by the sound of his own tongue amid the babel of English phrases. The girl at his side looked at him with so frank an astonishment that he felt it necessary to explain. "I have my gifts on the day of the year. Christmas is an English fête, and I am French. So I have nothing." "Nothing!" replied Miss Lys blankly, and then, of a sudden, slipped her arm around him, and drew his head close to her own. "What dost thou see on the tree that thou wouldst like to have?" she asked, eagerly. "What is there, dearest?" And, at the unwonted tenderness of her question, the floodgates of Pépin's reserve suddenly gave way. Placing his hands upon the girl's shoulders, he searched her face with his eyes. "If there were another violin"--he began, and, faltering, stopped, and turned away to hide the tears that would come, strive as he might to hold them back. "Did you _hear_ him--and _see_ him?" queried Miss Lys, a minute after, furiously backing Sedgely into a corner by the lapels of his frock coat. "You _did_--you _know_ you did! And you are still here? Lord! _What_ a man!"