Barely, very rarely, singers possess it, and even though their powers be limited there comes a strange thrill into their singing which fixes it indelibly on the memory.
Such a voice it was that Claudius heard as he lay on his ledge of masonry some ten feet below, and listened to the poetic flow of the strange lady's thoughts on Heidelberg and the scene at her feet.

He did not move, for he was sure she had not seen him; and he supposed she would go away in a few minutes.

He was destined to be seen, however.

She stopped talking, and was apparently lost in thought; but in a moment there was a small cry.
"O mon Dieu!" and a dainty lace-covered parasol fell over the edge, and, striking the platform where Claudius was lying, went straight to the bottom of the ruin, some twenty feet farther.
"What a nuisance," said the thrilling voice from above, "I can never get it back now; and there are no gardeners or people about." "Permit me, Madam," said Claudius, stepping as far out as he dared, and looking up to catch a glimpse of a beautiful woman in black and white staring down at the unlucky parasol in a rather helpless fashion.

"Do not be disturbed, Madam; I will get it for you in a moment." And he began to descend.
The fair unknown protested--Monsieur must not trouble himself; Monsieur would certainly break his neck--_enfin_, it was very obliging on the part of Monsieur to risk himself in such a terrible gulf, etc.etc.