skies. Listen! That musician knows it!" He thrust out his hand
impulsively and caught Blake's in a pressure full of nervous tension,
full of magnetism. "What is it he plays? Tell me! Tell me!"

His touch, his excitement fired Blake's Celtic blood, banishing his mood
of criticism.

"The man is playing scraps from _Louise_--Charpentier's _Louise_."

"I have never heard _Louise_."

"What! And you a student of Paris? Why, it's Charpentier's hymn to
Montmartre. Listen, now!" His voice quickened. "He's playing a bit out
of the night scene. He's playing the declaration of the _Noctambule_:

"Je suis le Plaisir de Paris!
Je vais vers les Amantes--que le Désir tourmente!
Je vais, cherchant les coeurs qu'oubli a le bonheur.
Là-bas glanant le Rire, ici semant l'Envie,
Prêchant partout le droit de tous à la folie;
Je suis le Procureur de la grande Cité!
Ton humble serviteur--ou ton maître!"

He murmured the words below his breath, pausing as the music deepened
with the passion of the player and the sinister song poured into the
night.

Then came a break, a pause, and the music flowed forth again, but
curiously altered, curiously softened in character.