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There
was nobody there. He looked round the room, and under the table,
and a great many times behind him, but there was certainly nobody
there, and he sat down again at the window. This time he didn't
speak, but he couldn't help thinking again that it would be very
convenient if the river were really all gold.
"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than before.
"Bless me!" said Gluck again, "what _is_ that?" He looked
again into all the corners and cupboards, and then began turning
round and round as fast as he could in the middle of the room,
thinking there was somebody behind him, when the same voice struck
again on his ear. It was singing now very merrily, "Lala-lira-la";
no words, only a soft, running, effervescent melody, something like
that of a kettle on the boil. Gluck looked out of the window. No,
it was certainly in the house. Upstairs, and downstairs. No, it was
certainly in that very room, coming in quicker time and clearer notes
every moment. "Lala-lira-la." All at once it struck Gluck that it
sounded louder near the furnace.


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