I hear they are very much affected by the tragedies of their neighbours in France. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Not a star could be discerned, but, in their stead, streaks of lurid radiance, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine, shot ever and anon athwart the dusky vault, and added to the ominous and threatening appearance of the night. Never before had any human being kissed her lips. His sword-arm fell useless at his side and she knew herself safe. No one would ever know what happened to him. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly.
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