"I believe you be one of my people!" exclaimed the Signor, after
listening in breathless attention to a new piece which he had brought
for her; her echoing tones died away, and rose again with gentler
pathos, softly, and with sweeter tone, to fall again.
Unconsciously her eyes were fixed upon the Signor as he spoke, and her
thoughts were carried back, far away; she knew not whither they would
take her, but rousing from her reverie, she merely replied,--"I love the
peculiar air of your nation, it presents such a striking contrast to our
cold, less pathetic style; but do not exclude what Winnie terms 'the
productions of the genii's more sensible moments' from my list of
favorites, for, as there are hours which are divided into sixty distinct
parts, so there are divisions within the human heart, which must live
each upon its own native air."
"Natalie, darling, what were you talking with the Signor about? From the
few words which I caught, of the human heart, etc., I did not know but
the presence of a third person might be agreeably dispensed with;" and
it was overtaxing the fringed lids of the mischievous Winnie's eyes, in
adding to their duties the office of sentinel.
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