Calvert, good-naturedly. "'Tis but a jest of
Henri's. Indeed, Madame, I am nothing of a musician."
"He may not be a musician, but he has a voice as beautiful as Garat's,
though I know 'tis heresy to compare anyone with that idol of Paris,"
said Beaufort, joining the group at that instant. "Dost thou remember
that pretty ballad that thou sangst at Monticello, Ned?" he asked,
turning to Calvert. "Indeed, Madame, I think 'twas of you he sang," he
added, smiling mischievously at Madame de St. Andre.
"What is this?" demanded Adrienne, imperiously. "Is this another jest?
But I must hear this song," she went on, impatiently, and with a touch
of curiosity.
"'Twas my favorite 'Lass with the Delicate Air,'" said Mr. Jefferson,
smiling. "You must sing it for us, Ned, and I will play for you as I
used to do." He took from its case a violin lying upon the harpsichord
and, leaning over it, he began softly the quaint accompaniment that
sustains so perfectly the whimsical melodies and surprising cadences of
Dr. Arne's ballad.
Though few of Mr. Calvert's audience could understand the sentiment of
his song, all listened with admiration to the voice, which still
retained much of its boyish sweetness and thrilling pathos.
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