Andrea listened to her and was conscious of a
pleasing sense of gratitude towards her. It seemed to him that in
speaking of these things in his presence, she offered him a kindly proof
of friendship, and permitted him to draw nearer to her. He thereby
caught a glimpse of her inner world, less through the actual words she
uttered than by the modulations of her voice. And again he recognised
the accents of _the other_.
It was an ambiguous voice, a voice with double chords in it, so to
speak. The more virile tones, deep and slightly veiled, would soften,
brighten, become feminine, as it were, by a transition so harmonious
that the ear of the listener was at once surprised, delighted, and
perplexed by it. The phenomenon was so singular that it sufficed by
itself to occupy the mind of the listener independently of the sense of
the words, so that after a few minutes the mind yielded to the
mysterious charm and remained suspended between expectation and desire
to hear the sweet cadence, as if waiting for a melody played upon an
instrument. It was the feminine note in this voice which recalled _the
other_.
'You sing?' asked Andrea half shyly.
'A little,' she replied.
'Then please sing a little,' entreated Donna Francesca.
'Very well, but I can only give you a sort of idea of the music, for,
during the last year, I have almost lost my voice.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166