Mr Lessingham stopped.  A stream of recollection seemed to come flooding over him.  A dreamy look came into his eyes.

’I remember it all as clearly as if it were yesterday.  How it all comes back,—­the dirty street, the evil smells, the imperfect light, the girl’s voice filling all at once the air.  It was a girl’s voice,—­full, and round, and sweet; an organ seldom met with, especially in such a place as that.  She sang a little chansonnette, which, just then, half Europe was humming,—­it occurred in an opera which they were acting at one of the Boulevard theatres,—­“La P’tite Voyageuse.”  The effect, coming so unexpectedly, was startling.  I stood and heard her to an end.

’Inspired by I know not what impulse of curiosity, when the song was finished, I moved one of the lattice blinds a little aside, so as to enable me to get a glimpse of the singer.  I found myself looking into what seemed to be a sort of cafe,—­one of those places which are found all over the Continent, in which women sing in order to attract custom.  There was a low platform at one end of the room, and on it were seated three women.  One of them had evidently just been accompanying her own song,—­she still had an instrument of music in her hands, and was striking a few idle notes.  The other two had been acting as audience.  They were attired in the fantastic apparel which the women who are found in such places generally wear.  An old woman was sitting knitting in a corner, whom I took to be the inevitable patronne.  With the exception of these four the place was empty.

’They must have heard me touch the lattice, or seen it moving, for no sooner did I glance within than the three pairs of eyes on the platform were raised and fixed on mine.  The old woman in the corner alone showed no consciousness of my neighbourhood.  We eyed one another in silence for a second or two.  Then the girl with the harp,—­the instrument she was manipulating proved to be fashioned more like a harp than a guitar—­called out to me,

’"Entrez, monsieur!—­Soye le bienvenu!”

’I was a little tired.  Rather curious as to whereabouts I was,—­ the place struck me, even at that first momentary glimpse, as hardly in the ordinary line of that kind of thing.  And not unwilling to listen to a repetition of the former song, or to another sung by the same singer.

’"On condition,” I replied, “that you sing me another song.”

’"Ah, monsieur, with the greatest pleasure in the world I will sing you twenty.”

’She was almost, if not quite, as good as her word.  She entertained me with song after song.  I may safely say that I have seldom if ever heard melody more enchanting.  All languages seemed to be the same to her.  She sang in French and Italian, German and English,—­in tongues with which I was unfamiliar.  It was in these Eastern harmonies that she was most successful.  They were indescribably weird and thrilling, and she delivered them with a verve and sweetness which was amazing.  I sat at one of the little tables with which the room was dotted, listening entranced.