Inside the envelope on which the address was written he
had enclosed forty francs.
"You'll probably find a little money useful one of these days," he
said. "Keep it till you really want it. You can't wear more than one
pair of boots at once, and there are other things more important. I
don't want you to thank me. You can go and sing something instead, and
do your best as it's for the last time."
Arithelli rose at once and went to the piano, eager to do something
that might give him pleasure.
She could play for herself now. Emile had succeeded in teaching her a
few easy accompaniments, so that he could listen without distraction.
She hesitated for a minute, turning over his big music book, and then
chose the popular song of the _cafe-chantants_ and streets, the famous
"_La Colombe_" with its lilting time, and mingled gaiety and sorrow.
One heard it everywhere, sung in Spanish, in the local patois, and in
French, by _artistes_ in the theatres, by factory girls, and sailors,
and market people. The _gamins_ and beggars whistled and hummed it in
the streets and squares.
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