The voices of
the singers ceased abruptly. There was a moment's hushed
silence. Then, from the shadow of the trees came a woman's
voice, clear, strong, flexible, flooding the night with the
bird-like trill of the mountain yodel. The sound rose
and fell, and swelled and soared. A silence. Then, in
a great burst of melody the chorus of voices within the
pavilion answered the call. Again a silence. Again the
wonder of the woman's voice flooded the stillness, ending
in a note higher, clearer, sweeter than any that had gone
before. Then the little Tyrolese, her moment of glory
ended, sped into the light of the noisy pavilion again.
When I turned to Von Gerhard my eyes were wet. "I
shall have that to remember, when you are gone."
Von Gerhard beckoned the hovering waiter. "Take
these things away. And you need not return." He placed
something in the man's palm--something that caused a
sudden whisking away of empty dishes, and many obsequious
bows.
Von Gerhard's face was turned away from me, toward
the beauty of the lake and sky. Now, as the last flirt
of the waiter's apron vanished around the corner he
turned his head slowly, and I saw that in his eyes which
made me catch my breath with apprehension.
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