Trilby | Page 7

nose
there rolled a volume of breathy sound, not loud, but so immense that it
seemed to come from all round, to be reverberated from every surface
in the studio. She followed more or less the shape of the tune, going up
when it rose and down when it fell, but with such immense intervals
between the notes as were never dreamed of in any. mortal melody. It
was as though she could never once have deviated Into tune, never once
have hit upon a true note, even by a fluke--in fact, as though she were
absolutely tone-deaf, and without ear, although she stuck to the time
correctly enough.
She finished her song amid an embarrassing silence. The audience
didn't quite know whether it were meant for fun or seriously. One
wondered if she were not paying out Svengali for his impertinent
performance of 'Messieurs les etudiants.' If so, it was a capital piece of
impromptu tit-for-tat admirably acted, and a very ugly gleam yellowed
the tawny black of Svengali's big eyes. He was so fond of making fun
of others that he particularly resented being made fun of
himself--couldn't endure that any one should ever have the laugh of
him..
At length Little Billee said: 'Thank you so much. It's a capital song.'

'Yes,' said Miss O'Ferrall. 'It's the only song I know, unfortunately. My
father used to sing it, just like that, when he felt jolly after hot
rum-and-water. It used to make people cry; he used to cry over it
himself. I never do. Some people think I can't sing a bit. All I can say is
that I've often had to sing it six or seven times running in lots of studios.
I vary it, you know--not the words, but the tune. You must remember
that I've only taken to it lately. Do you know Litolff? Well, he's a great
composer, and he came to Durien's the other day, and I sang "Ben
Bolt," and what do you think he said? Why, he said Madame Alboni
couldn't go nearly so high or so low as I did, and that her voice wasn't
half so big. He gave me his word of honour. He said I breathed as
natural and straight as a baby, and all I want is to get my voice a little
more under control. That's what he said.'
'Qu'est-ce qu'elle dit?' asked Svengali. And she said it all over again to
him in French--quite French French--of the most colloquial kind. Her
accent was not that of the Comedie Francaise, nor yet that of the
Faubourg St. Germain, nor yet that of the shop, or the pavement. It was
quaint and expressive--'funny without being vulgar.'
'Barpleu! he was right, Litolff,' said Svengali. 'I assure you,
matemoiselle, that I have never heard a voice that can equal yours; you
have a talent quite exceptional.'
She blushed with pleasure, and the others thought him a 'beastly cad'
for poking fun at the poor girl in such a way. And they thought
Monsieur Litolff another.
She then got up and shook the crumbs off her coat, and slipped her feet
into Durien's slippers, saying, in English: 'Well, I've got to go back.
Life ain't all beer and skittles, and more's the pity; but what's the odds,
so long as you're happy?'
On her way out she stopped before Taffy's picture--a chiffonnier with
his lantern, bending over a dust-heap. For Taffy was, or thought
himself, a passionate realist in those days. He has changed, and now
paints nothing but King Arthurs and Guineveres and Lancelots and
Elaines, and floating Ladies of Shalott.

'That chiffonnier's basket isn't hitched high enough,' she remarked.
'How could he tap his pick against the rim and make the rag fall into it
if it's hitched only halfway up his back? And he's got the wrong sabots,
and the wrong lantern; it's all wrong.'
'Dear me!' said Taffy, turning very red; 'you seem to know a lot about it.
It's a pity you don't paint, yourself.'
'Ah! now you're cross!' said Miss O'Ferrall. 'Oh, mai'e ai'e!'
She went to the door and paused, looking round benignly. 'What nice
teeth you've all three got! That's because your Englishmen, I suppose,
and clean them twice a day. I do too. Trilby O'Ferrall, that's my name,
48 Rue des Pousse-Cailloux!--pose pour l'ensemble, quand ce l'amuse!
va-t-en ville, et fait tout ce qui concerne son etat! Don't forget. Thanks
all, and good-bye.'
'En v'la une orichinale,' said Svengali.
'I think she's lovely,' said Little Billee, the young and tender. 'Oh
heavens, what angel's feet! It makes me sick to think she sits for the
figure. I'm sure she's quite a lady.'
And in five minutes or so, with the point of an old compass, he
scratched in white on the