Figente, who had sensed a lack of warmth in her greeting, due obviously to an altercation with Vermillion, decided they had best withdraw.
"We've come for only a moment. I don't suppose I need tell you how superb you were tonight."
"Yes," broke in Hal, "I said to Figente it would be wonderful to hear you with harp instead of piano. To me the harp is the only instrument for the modes of some of your songs. For example, I would like to transcribe 'Ma Douce Annette' into the hypodorian or Phrygian mode. Of course I don't mean those sickening arpeggios some harpists would play—but using the Greek modes, in a new way, to bring out the tragic, heroic, and joyous tonalities in your voice. Or the harp could be plucked for troubadour songs without the tinniness of a mandolin. Or there could be a chinoiserie effect for rococo songs. All sorts of effects. I think a piano is too blunt to do you justice."
Simone, while flattered by the pretty blond boy's enthusiasm, was not ccitain whether to countenance any intimation that her performance could be improved. "It is an idea," she said noncommittally.
Observing Hal's flushed enthusiasm, Figente's pride was marred by alarm at the sudden premonition of being abandoned for Simone. It must be, he thought, the second chartreuse that had caused the pressure on his heart.
"Hal is naturally enthusiastic about the harp, as that is his instrument. One day when you come for lunch you may find some of his arrangements interesting. Jacques no doubt could adapt them to the piano," he offered reluctantly.
Lucy stared at Hal as if seeing him for the first time. To think he saw all that in Simone's songs. He never had offered to play for her.
Vida kept in the background as one from whom no comment was expected. Simone Calvette, she thought, was truly an extraordinary artist and woman. She had expressed in the shadings of tone longings of a girl like oneself, though Calvette was a mature woman. She was the kind of woman one read about in Balzac and even Remy de Gourmont. Even more interesting here than on the stage. A woman exuding the essence of that phrase femme du monde. No wonder those silver- and green-painted eyelids were heavy and half closed considering what their topaz eyes had seen and, seeing, understood. It must have been many lovers who had taught her to understand the human heart. Mature men, whatever their nature, not like those college boys who took Lucy out. Lucy was certainly the
