it had forgotten to put it up. Victorine seated herself on a
cider cask close to the window, and leaning her head against the wall
began to sing again in a low tone. She had a habit of singing at all
times, and often hardly knew that she sang at all. The Provencal melody
was still running in her head.

"Ah! luck for the bees,
The flowers are in flower;
Luck for the bees in spring.
Ah me, but the flowers, they die in an hour;
No summer is fair as the spring.
Ah! luck for the bees;
The honey in flowers
Is highest when they are on wing!"

she sang. Then suddenly breaking off she began singing a wild, sad
melody of another song:--

"The sad spring rain,
It has come at last.
The graves lie plain,
And the brooks run fast;
And drip, drip, drip,
Falls the sad spring rain;
And tears fall fresh,
In the sad spring air,
From lovers' eyes,
On the graves laid bare."

It was very dark in the storeroom; it was dark out of doors. The moon
had been up for an hour, but the sky was overcast thick with clouds.
Willan Blaycke was still asleep under the pear-tree. His head was only a
few feet from the storeroom window. The sound of Victorine's singing
reached his ears, but did not at first waken him, only blended
confusedly with his dreams. In a few seconds, however, he waked, sprang
to his feet, and looked about him in bewilderment. Out of the darkness,
seemingly within arm's reach, came the low sweet notes,--

"And drip, drip, drip,
Falls the sad spring rain;
And tears fall fresh,
In the sad spring air,
From lovers' eyes,
On the graves laid bare."

Groping his way in the direction from which the voice came, Willan
stumbled against the wall of the house, and put his hand on the
window-sill. "Who sings in here?" he cried, fumbling in the empty space.

"Holy Mother!" shrieked Victorine, and ran out of the storeroom, letting
the door shut behind her with all its force. The noise echoed through
the inn, and waked Willan's friend, who was also taking a nap in one of
the old leather-cushioned high-backed chairs in the bar-room. Rubbing
his eyes, he came out to look for Willan. He met him on the threshold.

"Ah!" he said, "where have you been all this time? I have slept in a
chair, and am vastly rested."

"The Lord only knows where I have been," answered Willan, laughing. "I
too have slept; but a woman with a voice like the voice of a wild bird
has been singing strange mel