`I DIDN'T quite catch what you said!' were the next wordsthat reached my ear, but certainly not in the voice either of Sylvie orof Bruno, whom I could just see, through the crowd of guests, standingby the piano, and listening to the Count's song. Mein Herr was the speaker.`I didn't quite catch what you said!' he repeated. `But I've no doubt youtake my view of it. Thank you very much for your kind attention. Thereis only but one verse left to be sung!' These last words were not in thegentle voice of Mein Herr, but in the deep bass of the French Count. And,in the silence that followed, the final stanza of `Tottles' rang throughthe room.

See now this couple settled down
In quiet lodgings, out of town:
Submissively the tearful wife
Accepts a plain and humble life:
Yet begs one boon on bended knee:
`My ducky-darling, don't resent it!
Mamma might come for two or three--'
`NEVER!' yelled Tottles. And he meant it.

The conclusion of the song was followed by quite a chorusof thanks and compliments from all parts of the room, which the gratifiedsigner responded to by bowing low in all directions. `It is to me a greatprivilege,' he said to Lady Muriel, `to have met with this so marvellousa song. The accompaniment to him is so strange, so mysterious: it is asif a new music were to be invented! I will play him once again so as thatto show you what I mean.' He returned to the piano, but the song had vanished.

The bewildered singer searched through the heap of musiclying on an adjoining table, but it was not there, either. Lady Murielhelped in the search: others soon joined: the excitement grew. `What canhave become of it?' exclaimed Lady Muriel. Nobody knew: one thing onlywas certain, that no one had been near the piano since the Count had sungthe last verse of the song.

`Nevare mind him!' he said, most good-naturedly. `I shallgive it you with memory alone!' He sat down, and began vaguely fingeringthe notes; but nothing resembling the tune came out. Then he, too, grewexcited. `But what oddness! How much of singularity! That I might lose,not the words alone, but the tune also--that is quite curious, I suppose?'

We all supposed it, heartily.

`It was that sweet little boy, who found it for me,' theCount suggested. `Quite perhaps he is the thief?'

`Of course he is!' cried Lady Muriel. `Bruno! Where areyou, my darling?'

But no Bruno replied: it seemed that the two childrenhad vanished as suddenly, and as mysteriously, as the song.

`They are playing us a trick!' Lady Muriel gaily exclaimed.`This is only an ex tempore game of Hide-and-Seek! That little Bruno isan embodied Mischief!'

The suggestion was a welcome one to most of us, for someof the guests were beginning to look decidedly uneasy. A general searchwas set on foot with much enthusiasm: curtains were thrown back and shaken,cupboards opened, and ottomans turned over; but the number of possiblehiding-places proved to be strictly limited; and the search came to anend almost as soon as it had begun.

`They must have run out, while we were wrapped up in thesong,' Lady Muriel said, addressing herself to the Count, who seemed moreagitated than the others; `and no doubt they've found their way back tothe housekeeper's room.'

`Not by this door!' was the earnest protest of a knotof two or three gentlemen, who had been grouped round the door (one ofthem actually leaning against it) for the last half-hour, as they declared.`This door has not been opened since the song began!'

An uncomfortable silence followed this announcement. LadyMuriel ventured no further conjectures, but quietly examined the fasteningsof the windows, which opened as doors. They all proved to be well fastened,inside.

Not yet at the end of her resources, Lady Muriel rangthe bell. `Ask the housekeeper to step here,' she said, `and to bring thechildren's walking-things with her.'

`I've brought them, my Lady,' said the obsequious housekeeper,entering after another minute of silence. `I thought the young lady wouldhave come to my room to put on her boots. Here's your boots, my love!'she added cheerfully, looking in all directions for the children. Therewas no answer, and she turned to Lady Muriel with a puzzled smile. `Havethe little darlings hid themselves?'

`I don't see them, just now,' Lady Muriel replied, ratherevasively. `You can leave their things here, Wilson. I'll dress them, whenthey're ready to go.'

The two little hats, and Sylvie's walking-jacket, werehanded round among the ladies, with many exclamations of delight. Therecertainly was a sort of witchery of beauty about them. Even the littleboots did not miss their share of favourable criticism. `Such natty littlethings!' the musical young lady exclaimed, almost fondling them as shespoke. `And what tiny tiny feet they must have!'

Finally, the things were piled together on the centre-ottoman,and the guests, despairing of seeing the children again, began to wishgood-night and leave the house.

There were only some eight or nine left--to whom the Countwas explaining, for the twentieth time, how he had had his eye on the childrenduring the last verse of the song; how he had then glanced round the room,to see what effect `de great chest-note' had had upon his audience; andhow, when he looked back again, they had both disappeared--when exclamationsof dismay began to be heard on all sides, the Count hastily bringing hisstory to an end to join in the outcry.

The walking-things had all disappeared!

After the utter failure of the search for the children,there was a very halfhearted search made for their apparel. The remainingguests seemed only too glad to get away, leaving only the Count and ourfour selves.

The Count sank into an easy-chair, and panted a little.

`Who then are these dear children, I pray you?' he said.`Why come they, why go they, in this so little ordinary a fashion? Thatthe music should make itself vanish--that the hats, the boots, should makethemselves to vanish--how is it, I pray you?'

`I've no idea where they are!' was all I could say, onfinding myself appealed to, by general consent, for an explanation.

The Count seemed about to ask further questions, but checkedhimself.

`The hour makes himself to become late," he said. `I wishto you a very good night, my Lady. I betake myself to my bed--to dream--ifthat indeed I be not dreaming now!' And he hastily left the room.

`Stay awhile, stay awhile!' said the Earl, as I was aboutto follow the Count. `You are not a guest, you know! Arthur's friend isat home here!'

`Thanks!' I said, as with true English instincts, we drewour chairs together round the fire-place, though no fire was burning--LadyMuriel having taken the heap of music on her knee, to have one more searchfor the strangely-vanished song.

`Don't you sometimes feel a wild longing,' she said, addressingherself to me, `to have something more to do with your hands, while youtalk, than just holding a cigar, and now and then knocking off the ash?Oh, I know all that you're going to say!' (This was to Arthur, who appearedabout to interrupt her.) `The Majesty of Thought supersedes the work ofthe fingers. A Man's severe thinking, plus the shaking-off a cigar-ash,comes to the same total as a Woman's trivial fancies, plus the most elaborateembroidery. That's your sentiment, isn't it, only better expressed?'

Arthur looked into the radiant, mischievous face, witha grave and very tender smile. `Yes,' he said resignedly: `that is my sentiment,exactly.'

`Rest of body, and activity of mind,' I put in. `Somewriter tells us that is the acme of human happiness.'

`Plenty of bodily rest, at any rate!' Lady Muriel replied,glancing at the three recumbent figures around her. `But what you callactivity of mind--'

`--is the privilege of young Physicians only,' said theEarl. `We old men have no claim to be active. What can an old man do butdie?'

`A good many other things, I should hope,' Arthur saidearnestly.

`Well, maybe. Still you have the advantage of me in manyways, dear boy! Not only that your day is dawning while mine is setting,but your interest in Life--somehow I ca'n't help envying you that. It willbe many a year before you lose your hold of that.'

`Yet surely many human interests survive human Life?'I said.

`Many do, no doubt. And some forms of Science; but onlysome, I think. Mathematics, for instance: that seems to possess an endlessinterest: one ca'n't imagine any form of Life, or any race of intelligentbeings, where Mathematical truth would lose its meaning. But I fear Medicinestands on a different footing. Suppose you discover a remedy for some diseasehitherto supposed to be incurable. Well, it is delightful for the moment,no doubt--full of interest--perhaps it brings you fame and fortune. Butwhat then? Look on, a few years, into a life where disease has no existence.What is your discovery worth, then? Milton makes Jove promise too much."Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." Poor comfort when one's "fame"concerns matters that will have ceased to have a meaning!'

`At any rate one wouldn't care to make any fresh medicaldiscoveries,' said Arthur. `I see no help for that--though I shall be sorryto give up my favourite studies. Still, medicine, disease, pain, sorrow,sin--I fear they're all linked together. Banish sin, and you banish themall!'

`Military science is a yet stronger instance,' said theEarl. `Without sin, war would surely be impossible. Still any mind, thathas had in this life any keen interest, not in itself sinful, will surelyfind itself some congenial line of work hereafter. Wellington may haveno more battles to fight--and yet--

"We doubt not that, for one so true,
There must be other, nobler work to do,
Than when he fought at Waterloo,
                    And Victor he must ever be!"'

He lingered over the beautiful words, as if he loved them:and his voice, like distant music, died away into silence.

After a minute or two he began again. `If I'm not wearyingyou, I would like to tell you an idea of the future Life which has hauntedme for years, like a sort of waking nightmare--I ca'n't reason myself outof it.'

`Pray do,' Arthur and I replied, almost in a breath. LadyMuriel put aside the heap of music, and folded her hands together.

`The one idea,' the Earl resumed, `that has seemed tome to overshadow all the rest, is that of Eternity--involving, as it seemsto do, the necessary exhaustion of all subjects of human interest. TakePure Mathematics, for instance--a Science independent of our present surroundings.I have studied it, myself, a little. Take the subject of circles and ellipses--whatwe call "curves of the second degree". In a future Life, it would onlybe a question of so many years (or hundreds of years, if you like), fora man to work out all their properties. Then he might go to curves of thethird degree. Say that took ten times as long (you see we have unlimitedtime to deal with). I can hardly imagine his interest in the subject holdingout even for those; and, though there is no limit to the degree of thecurves he might study, yet surely the time, needed to exhaust all the noveltyand interest of the subject, would be absolutely finite? And so of allother branches of Science. And, when I transport myself, in thought, throughsome thousands or millions of years, and fancy myself possessed of as muchScience as one created reason can carry, I ask myself "What then? Withnothing more to learn, can one rest content on knowledge, for the eternityyet to be lived through?" It has been a very wearying thought to me. Ihave sometimes fancied one might, in that event, say "It is better notto be", and pray for personal annihilation--the Nirvana of the Buddhists.'

`But that is only half the picture,' I said. `Besidesworking for oneself, may there not be the helping of others?'

`Surely, surely!' Lady Muriel exclaimed in a tone of relief,looking at her father with sparkling eyes.

`Yes,' said the Earl, `so long as there were any othersneeding help. But, given ages and ages more, surely all created reasonswould at length reach the same dead level of satiety. And then what isthere to look forward to?'

`I know that weary feeling,' said the young Doctor. `Ihave gone through it all, more than once. Now let me tell you how I haveput it to myself. I have imagined a little child, playing with toys onhis nursery-floor, and yet able to reason, and to look on, thirty yearsahead. Might he not say to himself "By that time I shall have had enoughof bricks and ninepins. How weary Life will be!" Yet, if we look forwardthrough those thirty years, we find him a great statesman, full of interestsand joys far more intense than his baby-life could give--joys wholly inconceivableto his baby-mind--joys such as no baby-language could in the faintest degreedescribe. Now, may not our life, a million years hence, have the same relation,to our life now, that the man's life has to the child's? And, just as onemight try, all in vain, to express to that child, in the language of bricksand ninepins, the meaning of "politics", so perhaps all those descriptionsof Heaven, with its music, and its feasts, and its streets of gold, maybe only attempts to describe, in our words, things for which we reallyhave no words at all. Don't you think that, in your picture of anotherlife, you are in fact transplanting that child into political life, withoutmaking any allowance for his growing up?'

`I think I understand you,' said the Earl. `The musicof Heaven may be something beyond our powers of thought. Yet the musicof Earth is sweet! Muriel, my child, sing us something before we go tobed!'

`Do,' said Arthur, as he rose and lit the candles on thecottage-piano, lately banished from the drawing-room to make room for a`semi-grand'. `There is a song here, that I have never heard you sing.

"Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
   Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
   Pourest thy full heart!"'

he read from the page he had spread open before her.

`And our little life here,' the Earl went on, `is, tothat grand time, like a child's summer-day! One gets tired as night drawson,' he added, with a touch of sadness in his voice, `and one gets to longfor bed! For those welcome words "Come, child, `tis bed-time!"'