592
MUSICAL CHRONICLE
I dare say it will not quit me now. Feu de Joie it remains. That, after all, was the poor girl's one supreme moment. The many wondrous inflammations I had dreamed; years of high work ahead for which she was preparing herself, were not granted her. In the singing of those five songs, there had been showered all that life would let her give to the public of her ecstatic being. The news of her death must have left many persons besides myself standing as before a hearth whereon a moment ago a bouquet of flame was leaping upward; surprised and a little stunned that of the jolly thing there remains nothing but a little ash in an empty space.
