It gradually ran
into a regular refrain, which became more and more like words.
Ayrault was puzzled, and then amazed. There could be no doubt
about it. "You should be happy," it kept repeating--"you should
be happy," in soft musical tones.
"I know I should," replied Ayrault, finally recognizing the voice
of Violet Slade in the song of the wind, "and I cannot understand
why I am not. Tell me, is this paradise, Violet, or is it not
rather purgatory?"
The notes ranged up and down again, and he perceived that she was
causing the wind to blow as she desired--in other words, she was
making it play upon his harp.
"That depends on the individual," she replied. "It is rather
sheol, the place of departed spirits. Those whose consciences
made them happy on earth are in paradise here; while those good
enough to reach heaven at last, but in whom some dross remains,
are further refined in spirit, and to them it is purgatory.
Those who are in love can be happy in but one way while their
love lasts. What IS happiness, anyway?"
"It is the state in which desires are satisfied, my fair Violet,"
answered Ayrault.
"Say, rather, the state in which desire coincides with duty,"
replied the song.
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