He listened with an intent frown, the fingers of his left hand curled
inwards and moving as though he were trying to follow the air on
imaginary strings.
Then as Joyselle went on to the delightful Pont d'Avignon, his hand
relaxed, and he closed his eyes for a moment.
The room was nearly dark, and rain beat in gusts on the windows.
"_Fais dodo_," sang the fiddle softly, "_fais dodo._"
"I like that. Play it again. Ah, Master--it is you. I am so glad----"
Joyselle did not stop, but he smiled down at the boy as he played on
very softly. "Of course it is I. I am delighted to see you so much
better. Do you know 'Ma Normandie'? This is it----"
Tommy moved a little and settled his head more comfortably.
The boudoir was in an angle of the house opposite to which, a floor
higher, was the gallery. As he played, someone in the picture-gallery
turned on the electric lights, and one long shaft, coming through the
window, shone down on the player's head.
"See the Halo, Bicky?" asked the boy in a natural voice. "Isn't he
splendid?" Then he added, with the frown she so dreaded: "Take me away
before they begin to clap, will you?"
"No clapping allowed, Tommy," Joyselle assured him quietly.
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