They work off some of their accumulated feelings that way, you know; and in their rejoicings they do not forget those who, alas! will never return any more." There was a pause; and Peter remained silent, embarrassed by the canon's emotion, and not knowing very well how to reply.
"There, there," said the canon, saving him the trouble; "we can discuss it later.

You are thinking of your mother now." As he spoke, they all heard Lady Mary's voice in the corridor above.
She was humming a song, and as she neared the open staircase the words of her song came very distinctly to their ears-- _Entends tu ma pensee qui le respond tout bas_?
_Ton doux chant me rappelle les plus beaux de mes jours_.
"My mother's voice," said Peter, in bewildered accents; and he dropped his eyeglass.
The canon showed a presence of mind that seldom distinguished him.
He hurried away the old ladies, protesting, into the drawing-room, and closed the door behind him.
Peter scarcely noticed their absence.
_Ah! le rire fidele prouve un coeur sans detours, Ah! riez, riez--ma belle--riez, riez toujours_, sang Lady Mary.
"I never heard my mother sing before," said Peter..