Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/119

 The agonizing cry poured out:

In the narrow street of the quaint old town the white-haired, broken-hearted mother begged of the passers-by. The nun saw it all, felt it, with the double intensity of religious and musical ecstasy. Almost hidden in the deep shadows of a corner of the room she leaned forward, drinking it in, and lost in it. To the supremest possible extent was she following every shade of the music, every element in the dramatic situations, every beauty of that voice. "Act fourth," said the singer, softly, "the great scene in the temple where Jean denies his mother." She sang:

To the right stood the stately figure of the prophet in his white robes, with his followers around him. The music of the wonderful march that preceded the scene still echoed faintly in the ear. But who could hear it,