Mary understood him, and was grateful for his kindness.

“Thanks, thanks, signor,” she said, warmly, as she passed on to salute other guests.

When Mary approached the piano, and addressed a few kind words to Master Christian, many Italian gentlemen begged her to favor them with a canzone.

With her father’s permission, the young girl consented to gratify the guests.  She hesitated awhile as to the language in which to sing, and was turning over the leaves of a book handed her by Master Christian.  The old Deodati expressed a wish to hear a song in the language of the Low Countries, and begging pardon of the Italian gentlemen, Mary said she would sing a Kyrie Eleison in her maternal tongue.

Master Christian seated himself at the piano, to accompany her, and commenced a prelude.

The first notes of the young girl were like a gentle murmur.  By degrees her voice became firmer and stronger, until at the end of each strophe the word eleison rose like a sonorous hymn to heaven.

The measure was remarkably slow, simple, and full of a tranquil melody.  Mary evidently felt the peculiar character of this chant, for instead of endeavoring to add to the effect, she softened still more her singularly sweet voice, and let the words drop slowly from her lips, as if the songstress herself were ravished in contemplation and was listening to celestial music.

At first the Italian gentlemen exchanged glances, as if to express the thought that this chant could not compare with the brilliant lively style of the Italian music.  But this unfavorable opinion was not of long duration.  They, like all others, soon yielded to the irresistible fascination of Mary’s exquisite voice.  They listened with such rapt attention that not the slightest movement was made in the room, and one might have heard the murmur of the leaves in the garden as they were gently stirred by the breeze of May.

Mary had concluded her song and lifted her eyes to heaven with an expression of adoration.  All who gazed upon her felt as though they were contemplating an angel before the throne of God.  Even Simon Turchi was subdued by admiration, and he even momentarily lost sight of the hatred and jealousy which lacerated his heart.

Mary thus sang: 

  Kyrie!  Lo, our God comes,
    Mankind to save from ill and bless: 
  What grateful joy should break our gloom
    And fill our hearts with happiness!

  Kyrie eleison!—­God is born! 
    A virgin mother gives him birth;
  And sin’s dark bonds asunder torn,
    Sweet heaven again inclines to earth.

  Kyrie!—­hear!—­the sacred font

    Pours forth its saving waters free—­
  And Thou impressest on our front
    The sign that drives our foes away.

  Christe!—­anointed victim!—­Thou,
    Who in thy death bestowest life—­
  The healing remedy for woe—­
    Ah! earth with many a woe is rife.