At the first notes of the air Calvert stood beside him and lifted up his
fresh young voice of thrilling sweetness. It was one of those naturally
beautiful voices, which at this time and for many years longer had a
charm that none could resist, and which helped, among other things, to
earn for him the everlasting jealousy of that remarkable and versatile
scoundrel, Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire.
"I protest, sir," cried Mr. Gilbert from his place beside Miss
Crenshawe, when the bow at last dropped from the quivering strings, "I
protest I have not heard such music since St. George and Garat played
and sang together in Paris!"
Monsieur de Lafayette laid his hand affectionately on Calvert's
shoulder. "Ah, Ned," he said in his English with the strong accent,
"that was sweet, but if I mistake me not, thy voice sounded even sweeter
to my ears as thou sangst thy songs around the campfires at night after
our long marches and counter-marches when we hung upon Cornwallis's
flank or raced toward Petersburg to beat Phillips! 'Twas a very girl's
voice then, but it could make us forget fatigue and danger and
homesickness!"
"I am glad to believe that I was of some service," said Calvert.
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