AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS
 
 "SHE SAW AND KNEW THAT SHE JULIA PEMBROKE HAD DEVELOPED INTO 
 
 A FORM OF STRIKING BEAUTY:"
 
 AN 
 
 AMERICAN SINGER 
 IN PARIS 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 MRS. HANSON WORKMAN 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 GLEN TRACY 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 THE TRIBUNE PRINTING CO. 
 1908.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1908, 
 
 BY FLORENCE WORKMAN, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 REGISTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL, LONDON, ENGLAND. 
 
 Set up nd electrotyped. Pilblihed October. 1908. 
 
 THE TBIBUNE PRINTING COMPANT, 
 CINCINNATI, OHIO, TT. 8. A.
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 'SHE SAW AND KNEW THAT SHE JULIA PEMBROKE HAD 
 
 DEVELOPED INTO A FORM OF STRIKING BEAUTY." Frontispiece 
 
 Facing Page 
 
 ' 'FROM THAT MOMENT WHEN i WAS PERMITTED AN HONOR- 
 ABLE INTRODUCTION TO YOU TO YOU THE ONLY WOMAN 
 I HAVE EVER LOVED:' "..... 106 
 
 "MON DIEU! JULIA is DEAD!'" 274 
 
 2138903
 
 TO 
 
 THE GREAT SINGERS OF THE WORLD. 
 
 WHOSE CHARACTERS AND VOICES 
 
 HAVE ENNOBLED LIFE AND ILLUMINATED HISTORY, 
 
 THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.
 
 I asked the Sun. 
 "Canst tell me what love is? 
 He answered only by a smile 
 Of golden light. 
 
 I prayed the flowers. 
 "Ok tell me, what is love?' 
 Only a fragrant sigh was waited 
 Thro the night. 
 
 "Is love the soul s true life, 
 Or is it but the sport 
 Of idle summer hours?' I asked 
 Of Heaven above. 
 
 In answer, God sent thee. 
 Sweet heart, to me! 
 And I no longer question, 
 love?" 
 
 The Galaxy.
 
 An American Singer in Paris. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "You sing Lucia very well, and should you go out 
 from my school now, you would be the equal of any of 
 the great artists of the day. But, my pupil, if you will 
 continue to study with me one year longer, and study as 
 earnestly and as successfully as you have during the years 
 since Madame Cinati placed you under my guidance, I 
 
 promise you that I shall no, that I will present you 
 
 to the music-loving people, the greatest singer the world 
 has ever had." 
 
 He paused, and, looking at the open score of "Lucia" 
 upon the piano before him, awaited her reply. 
 
 Julia, stepping down from the rostrum, came close 
 to the master's side. He did not turn toward her, but 
 continued to look at the music, while his ringers wandered 
 in silence over the keys. 
 
 Julia, whose face during the singing of Lucia had 
 given evidence of rapturous delight at making her debut 
 the following month, hesitated to make answer, for she 
 felt unable to hide the tremor of disappointment which 
 she was certain her voice must betray were she to at- 
 tempt a reply at once. 
 
 Finally, having overcome the bitter emotion which the 
 master's words had precipitated upon her, she said, 
 calmly: "I shall study another year, since you desire it 
 and think it best that I should do so. I trust your judg- 
 ment. I trust implicitly your devotion to the art of song." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Pembroke. By your assent I shall 
 become the teacher of the world's greatest singer."
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Then rising from his seat at the piano, he bowed 
 profoundly to Julia, at the same time saying: "Thus the 
 world will greet you. This I feel ; this I know." 
 
 "My good teacher," said Julia, "I shall endeavor, by 
 every means within my power, to make you realize your 
 fond anticipation." 
 
 The master, grasping her by the hand, shook it heart- 
 ily, saying: "Thank you, thank you, thrice I thank you." 
 Then seating himself, he said: "Let us continue the les- 
 son the cadenza, Julia," and he struck, as a preliminary, 
 the chord which ends the aria. 
 
 Soft, but surely, came the sad, forsaken melody 
 which speaks so truly of the unhappy state of the despair- 
 ing Lucia. Though the short phrases, at the beginning, 
 sighed gently, each note by Julia's now perfectly placed 
 and beautifully developed voice was clear, vibrant, pene- 
 trating and strong. 
 
 As most singers do, in the execution of florid pas- 
 sages, Julia had gradually increased the tempo, until, as 
 she bounded from trills to grupettos, now repeatedly up 
 and down the scales, in runs, triplets, and in arpeggios, 
 poising at the heights of these roulades, to execute the 
 successive staccatos, on and on, with reckless brilliancy, 
 over all the time-honored ornaments known to the lyric 
 art, the marvelous flexibility of the fresh, young voice 
 was bewildering, captivating and almost bewitching, well 
 displaying the years of diligent practice which she had 
 pursued. 
 
 And when the prolonged trill, delicate at first, but 
 quickly increasing in a superb crescendo to the zenith of 
 her power, burst forth, the effect was crowning. 
 
 Every tone throughout this race of note participants 
 was exquisitely true and polished; every tone was as 
 limpid as a raindrop, and, like it, had gathered from its 
 sun the human soul that brilliancy which makes a
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 raindrop a lighted crystal, and makes each note as lovely 
 as a flawless moonlit gem, through whose effulgent light 
 a soul is seen. 
 
 The manner in which she mounted to the dizzying 
 heights of this difficult cadenza, taking the sustained F 
 in alt with such ease, accuracy of intonation and golden 
 purity of tone, would readily confirm the minds of each 
 and all auditors that such possibilities are attainable by 
 the born singer only ; and, further, that the possessor of 
 such combined vocal gifts is produced only once in a 
 century. 
 
 She sang on and on sang as only one can sing when 
 faith is the guiding star; for Julia had that high faith 
 which fails not by the way faith in her teacher, faith 
 in herself, but, most of all, faith in her mission. 
 
 The mission of each life on earth is well nigh impos- 
 sible to discern, or divine, but such is not the case with 
 the general vocations of men and women in society, for 
 each has a clear, defined, general purpose in life. The 
 function of the soldier, the statesman, the lawyer, is to 
 restrain the wrong ; the work of the educator, the scholar, 
 the writer, the clergy, the editor, is to expand the good; 
 while the high purpose of the poet, the artist and the 
 singer is to beautify the good. 
 
 Julia entered upon and pursued those long years of 
 arduous study with firm resolve to attain the high pur- 
 pose set by the ages of men for the divine art of song. 
 
 As Julia left the maestro's house, on the Pare de Mon- 
 ceau, and walked quickly down the Rue Rembrandt, the 
 evening shadows were seen creeping into the most 
 secluded corners of the streets and boulevards. 
 
 She could not help suffering a decided change of 
 spirit, for on entering a short time before she had been 
 swayed by a buoyant enthusiasm, so strong had been the 
 
 3
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 emotion occasioned by the assurance that the years of 
 severe study were about to be crowned with a. success- 
 ful debut. 
 
 Now all was changed, and another year's continuous 
 study must intervene between the present and the cher- 
 ished hour of debut. She reasoned with herself that, no 
 doubt, the master understood, and she would abide by 
 her decision; yet she could not overcome the feeling of 
 depression which seemed to cover her and to press upon 
 her from all sides, and with appalling force. 
 
 Deeply moved by thoughts of this nature, her arm 
 twitched nervously, and ended in a spasmodic jerk, which 
 sent a piece of music out of her music-roll, carried in that 
 hand, for it lay in the center of the rolled-up score of 
 "Lucia di Lammermoor," which she had in her roll. It 
 fell, unnoticed by her. 
 
 Just at this instant she was passed by a carefully 
 dressed young man, going in the opposite direction. To 
 her he passed not, for she was too much preoccupied. 
 
 "Pardon, Mademoiselle," said a voice; "I think this 
 piece of music dropped from your music-roll." 
 
 "Ah, indeed!" exclaimed Julia, without lifting her 
 eyes above the hand in which he held the music. "Yes, 
 it is mine," for she had seen her name upon the corner 
 uppermost. "Thank you, very much indeed, sir." And 
 she continued on her way. 
 
 Though she had reclaimed her music, without look- 
 ing at the stranger, the opposite was true of the stranger, 
 for he saw and admired the fine, strong face of the young 
 woman whom he had just addressed.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 On finding herself within the privacy of her apart- 
 ment, Julia sat down, weary in body and mind. She 
 tried to recover her usual spirit of cheerfulness, but her 
 disappointment was bitter, and this emotion, when allowed 
 to prey upon a victim, undoubtedly entails suffering to 
 the limit of one's endurance. 
 
 Julia understood this, and so quickly put herself to 
 other affairs in an effort to keep her mind in a healthy 
 channel, and for this purpose she knew of no better meth- 
 od than that of directing her attention to the little affairs 
 which require careful supervision. 
 
 One number of her daily programme was the studious 
 reading of some English or American poet, and for this 
 purpose selections were made from volumes of Shakes- 
 peare, Shelley, Bryant, Longfellow and others, all of 
 which were found upon her library shelves. 
 
 At this moment the volume of Longfellow lay upon 
 the table, beside which Julia had seated herself. She 
 reached for the volume, then let it drop idly in her lap. 
 
 "No," she said, "it is better not to read an American 
 to-day. I might become homesick." But again she took 
 up the book, which had opened when it had fallen from 
 her hand. It would seem that the poet wished to help 
 her, for when Julia put down her hand to replace the 
 rejected volume upon the table from which, a few min- 
 utes earlier, she had taken it, her eyes, following the mo- 
 tion of the hand, fell upon the open page, whereon she 
 saw the title of that nobly inspiring poem of the "People's 
 Poet" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow that poem fitted 
 to all, not to suit all alike, nevertheless to suit all making
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the journey, on up to the end for which the great First 
 Cause destined each life. 
 
 Though in years far back in America she had com- 
 mitted the poem entire, she let her eyes run through "The 
 Psalm of Life" until she came to the lines: 
 
 "On the world's broad field of battle, 
 
 In the bivouac of Life, 
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 
 Be a hero in the strife! 
 
 "Let us, then, be up and doing, 
 With a heart for any faith; 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 Learn to labor and to wait. 
 
 Those heaven-inspired lines had the desired effect, 
 for no sooner had the sentiment been telegraphed within 
 than she arose, saying: "I must cast away this spell of 
 gloom." And with a bright step she soon stood before 
 her mirror to arrange any little disorder which the re- 
 moval of her hat might have occasioned. 
 
 It is certainly a healthy indication when one is seen 
 looking into one's mirror for an idea of the impression 
 one's person is giving out upon the world ; and most espe- 
 cially is this a healthy sign if the regard is given much 
 to the appearance of the lines chiseled daily upon the 
 face. By carefully noting the facial lines one can easily 
 see the ravages of impish thoughts as well as the por- 
 trayal of high and noble ideals, for the face of each per- 
 son represents the exact character of that particular indi- 
 vidual. 
 
 "Ah," thought Julia, as she caught sight of herself 
 in her mirror, "I must go into my boudoir and arrange 
 
 6
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 my hair," her customary beautiful coiffure being sadly 
 awry. 
 
 She seated herself before her dressing table, and 
 placed the mirror at the proper angle; then as soon as 
 the comb and pins were removed, she shook out the wealth 
 of golden tresses, which unseen hands of fairies might 
 have been supposed to drop around her shoulders. She 
 quickly gathered the rich threads in a large, loose coil, 
 low down at the back of her neck, and securely fastened 
 all with the pins ; the front was parted and carried back, 
 a large, fluffy strand on either side, to the coil at the 
 back of the head, where above the coil she pushed in a 
 large amber comb. 
 
 This style of coiffure was very becoming to her oval 
 face, with its large, earnest blue eyes, above which curved 
 the delicately traced eyebrows in a graceful arch from 
 the nose to the end of the curve downward. The long, 
 high nose lent great strength of character to the face; 
 for in itself the face was almost childlike in the tender 
 lines of the chin. The mouth was small, and, although deli- 
 cately sensitive to all the sentiments, was yet possessed 
 of a womanly firmness, and when the neatly chiseled lips 
 parted in a smile or in speech, two rows of regular white 
 teeth, symmetrical as a string of graduated pearls, were 
 seen. The face in general, together with the pink and 
 white complexion, gave evidence of the splendid health 
 and capabilities of this fair young woman of two-and- 
 twenty summers. 
 
 She was not like most young women of that age, deli- 
 cate and slight of form, for during the past six years 
 each day had given some added physical development, 
 such as is required of all who would reach the heights 
 in the world of song. 
 
 The chest was high so high, so large, that for one 
 of her height, which was something near five feet five
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 inches, it gave the impression of abnormality, and it 
 tapered gently down to the waist line, which, in compari- 
 son, seemed disproportionately small, but in reality was 
 not small. 
 
 But though she had given her hair the usual care, and 
 lingered longer than was her wont, she found herself still 
 confronted with the drooping shoulders, with the limp 
 appearance, with the dejected, haggard, woe-begone ex- 
 pression of countenance all most truly negative of her 
 enthusiastic character; for, though not prim in the mat- 
 ter of dress and general appearance, she could not be 
 classed with the Burne-Jones style of woman, nor with 
 any approach to it. 
 
 "No, indeed," she thought, "I dare not entertain emo- 
 tions which can produce soich a shadow of my real self. 
 Truly, at this rapid decline I should not know Julia Pem- 
 broke at the end of a week." 
 
 She arose from the seat before her dressing table and 
 took a general survey. Altogether it was a sad contrast 
 to the firm, erect and buoyant young woman whom she 
 had seen there on taking her last look, when leaving for 
 the lesson with Maestro Novara. 
 
 "I am indeed ungrateful," she thought. "How bright, 
 how beautiful, is my present life to the dark period I spent 
 with my stepmother ! Perhaps, though, she darkened my 
 life, because she could not understand me, and I am 
 certain that I did not understand her." 
 
 It is strange, yet true, that in the past of each life 
 there is some period of darkness one's great life strug- 
 gle, which is remembered only with a shudder. No after 
 struggle, be it in the strife for survival or against temp- 
 tation, ever strikes the soul with the same dread poign- 
 ancy. 
 
 The first seven years of Julia Pembroke's life had been 
 years of peace and happiness, for, though motherless, the 
 
 8
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 maternal grandmother had been more than mother to the 
 little one left by the death of her only daughter, Cordelia 
 Mertonby. She had welcomed little Julia into the old 
 home, over which spread her influence, like a great white 
 dove, with outstretched wings, sheltering, shielding and 
 guarding the pathway and the footsteps of the infant. 
 
 It was from this grandmother that Julia had inherited 
 her extraordinary vocal gift. Christine Upsalen, for that 
 had been the maiden name of the grandmother, was a 
 Norwegian, born in Stockholm, Norway. She had 
 studied earnestly in Paris under the musical guidance of 
 Manuel Garcia. 
 
 After five years of severest application, under this 
 celebrated maestro, artistic judges pronounced her voice 
 such as to make her a dangerous rival for the honors 
 which thus far belonged to the "Swedish Nightingale" 
 alone, since to attempt a scientific description of the 
 voice of Christine Upsalen would be, in the words of her 
 master, a repetition of the qualities ascribed to the voice 
 of Jenny Lind. But on an afternoon when singing in 
 audition given by Maestro Garcia, a titled son of English 
 soil, who sat among the listeners, fell madly in love with 
 the fair young singer. Afterwards they had married and 
 had sailed for the States beyond the Atlantic, and Cincin- 
 nati, Ohio, had been chosen as the place wherein to build 
 their home. The mother of Julia had inherited the vocal 
 pawers of Christine Upsalen. But, marrying at the age 
 of eighteen, died sixteen months later, leaving Julia a 
 babe some few days old. 
 
 As the florist watches for the first tender shoot of his 
 tulip putting forth for Easter day, so watched the de- 
 voted grandmother, in joyous expectancy, for the first 
 velvety tone which would carry to her soul the intelli- 
 gence that another song spirit had come upon earth, to 
 sing itself out upon the waiting throng eager to hear a
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 heavenly message borne aloft upon waves of glorious 
 melody; for messages such as those conveyed by the 
 great singers of earth are inspired, and work only for the 
 uplifting of all who receive them. 
 
 As soon as Julia was able to go out at will she spent 
 most of her time under the apple trees, and early learned 
 to climb up among the branches, often far out upon the 
 limbs, vying with the birds in their carolling, and all the 
 while telling her grandmother that she wanted to sing 
 like a bird. 
 
 Here in the apple trees she sang with the birds every 
 spring, and often during the rendition of one of her bril- 
 liant impromptti cadenzas, finishing with a prolonged 
 trill, the birds would cease their song, and, perched upon 
 the twigs and branches around her, would peer through 
 the leaves and blossoms, as if wondering what manner 
 of bird she was. 
 
 At six years of age she was taken to hear Adelina 
 Patti, and from then until she was taken away by her 
 father she gave daily concerts to her grandmother, sing- 
 ing so nicely the arias as sung by Patti that the devotee of 
 Jenny Lind knelt at a new shrine, and Julia Pembroke 
 was the goddess of that shrine. 
 
 Another happy year had flown, when Bertram Pem- 
 broke, Julia's father, returned from the gold fields of 
 California, whither he had gone after the death of her 
 mother. He had married again, married a widow with 
 one child a daughter six months Julia's senior. Chi- 
 cago had been chosen as the city for his new home, and 
 thither Julia was taken at once. The grandmother, un- 
 able to bear the shock at separation from the idol of her 
 dream, died a month later of a broken heart, for she 
 refused to be comforted, and so the angels bore her away. 
 
 Mr. Pembroke, still having interests in the gold mines 
 of California, spent many months each year in that 
 
 10
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 state, and during his absence Julia's life was a genuine 
 purgatory; in truth, she was made to "pass under the 
 rod." 
 
 The rules of training constituted a daily series of 
 criticisms of the severest order, administered in a sarcas- 
 tic tone and manner such as would have crushed the 
 child heart of the bold and daring "Black Douglas." 
 
 Years passed on, leaving nothing for Julia but a desert 
 of sad memories, which so appalled her as at times to 
 cause her to wonder if God ever heard the prayer she 
 sent daily to His throne. Wider and deeper grew the 
 breach between herself and the other members of her 
 father's family, until she felt herself a veritable Cinder- 
 ella in the family. 
 
 At the age of fifteen the world would have pro- 
 nounced her a girl equally beautiful for her physical, her 
 mental and her moral endowments ; but the world knew 
 her not, for her life was confined to a daily routine of 
 household duties, which occupied the portion of the day 
 not spent in the schoolroom. 
 
 Many, many pictures painted from her real life during 
 the past nine years had been hung on Memory's wall, all 
 of which were heavily draped in mourning. The scenes 
 beneath those draperies she hoped ever to keep hidden 
 from mortal eye. Not even her father had been permit- 
 ted a glimpse of the struggles therein portrayed. Enough 
 to know she had been saved only by those other pictures 
 done in blue, white and gold, and hung far back behind 
 those grim monsters, looming up so terrible each time 
 she thought to go behind them; where she would lift 
 the filmy veil with which the years had draped them, and 
 peep in at the happy scenes, representing life with grand- 
 ma. Those little pictures had soothed her to sleep on 
 many a sad night, when life seemed a dreary waste spread 
 out before her. 
 
 II
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 In providing all life's comforts and many luxuries 
 for his child, Bertram Pembroke had failed to provide 
 her with that one most necessary to the proper growth 
 and development of each and every child in the world 
 motherly love. No child thrives healthily in an atmos- 
 phere of unloving or unsympathetic criticism. 
 
 When Julia was sixteen years of age she found her- 
 self very suddenly an orphan, for in crossing the boule- 
 vard in front of their home her father was struck by a 
 fast-flying auto and instantly killed. 
 
 One morning, some three weeks after that fatal day, 
 she chanced to read of the presence in the city of Chicago 
 of a great lyric prima donna. A bright thought struck 
 her. She would go at once and seek admission to the 
 singer. 
 
 Attired in a neat, navy blue street suit, of perfect fit 
 and finish, with gloves and hat of same color, she passed 
 out of the house, to make for herself the place in the 
 economy of things which by right of birth is the priv- 
 ilege of every intelligent American. 
 
 On reaching the hotel where the prima donna was 
 staying, she sent up her card. The servant soon re- 
 turned with orders to conduct Miss Pembroke to the 
 prima donna's suite of rooms. 
 
 As Julia entered the room the prima donna arose from 
 her seat and advanced toward her, extending her hand 
 with a very pleasant and agreeable manner, at the same 
 time greeting her in a charmingly sweet, low, well-modu- 
 lated voice: "I am very glad to have the pleasure of 
 meeting you, Miss Pembroke. Be seated, please," she 
 continued, at the same time signifying a seat by a mo- 
 tion of her left hand. In an instant her eyes had sur- 
 veyed the girlish figure of her graceful, young guest. 
 
 "Thank you," replied Julia, who still remained stand- 
 ing ; "I would not intrude long upon your precious time.'' 
 
 12
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "But I insist," said Madame Cinati, evidently much 
 pleased with the charming, young stranger. 
 
 Julia, accepting the seat, still feeling it would be best 
 in any case to expedite matters as soon as possible, said: 
 "Madame Cinati, I came to ask if you will kindly hear 
 me sing, and then tell me exactly what you think of my 
 voice." 
 
 "That I shall be most happy to do," replied Madame 
 Cinati, in glowing accents, "for I assure you it would 
 give me great pleasure to be able to find you possessed 
 of a voice. Your face indicates that you are a soprano 
 a very high soprano. However, that is soon decided. 
 Will you sing some little song for me?" she went on, 
 encouragingly. 
 
 Julia arose and sang without accompaniment the beau- 
 tiful French Christmas song, "Noel," a song her father 
 used to sing, and which she knew well. During the sing- 
 ing of "Noel" the prima donna's delighted smile encour- 
 aged Julia to sing it better than she had ever sung it 
 before. 
 
 "Now, then," said the prima donna, rising and going 
 toward the large grand piano across the room, "come to 
 the piano, please." Then, seating herself, she struck 
 middle C, requiring Julia to give a sustained tone on the 
 same. This she continued to do on every note to high 
 C, two octaves above. After the test on sustained tones 
 she tried Julia at sight reading, but Julia could not read 
 notes. 
 
 Closing the music, she said: "Now, let me test your 
 ear, for to become a very fine singer one must be born 
 with a musical ear." Then she played different, short, 
 broken melodies, continuing to give each more difficult 
 than the former, every one of which Julia sang without 
 an error. 
 
 "Where did you learn to do this kind of work so per- 
 
 13
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 fectly ?" she asked, in evident amazement at the alert and 
 accurate ear of Julia. 
 
 "I have sung in this fashion to suit my fancy, that is 
 all. I have never studied music in any form." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Madame Cinati. "This perfec- 
 tion in natural singing is nothing short of the marvelous." 
 
 "Thank you," said Julia, whose face was now a study 
 in lights, which would make radiant a summer sunset 
 at the close of a cloudless June day. 
 
 Next she played a trill, and asked Julia if she could 
 sing that. Julia's eyes danced with joy, for this had 
 been the finish for all her improvised cadenzas. She 
 took the trill which the prima donna had played for her, 
 and, carried away by the inspiration of the moment, she 
 continued the execution of the trill in splendid style 
 throughout the time of a full breath. 
 
 The prima donna, astonished, sat gazing at the smil- 
 ing countenance of Julia, who now stood calmly before 
 her, awaiting the verdict of one whose judgment would 
 have no little weight upon her future course of action. 
 
 At last the prima donna spoke. "Miss Pembroke, 
 your singing of 'Noel,' though not a song suited to your 
 voice, shows excellent style. Your compass is very un- 
 usual. Your musical ear is perfect and your trill is 
 matchless. Now, if you are in earnest, you can become 
 one of the great singers of the world ; but, remember, my 
 young friend, it is a long time before you find yourself 
 a finished singer ; besides, you have many arduous duties 
 to perform, and, too, it will require a great deal of 
 money, for you must study Voice Placement and Voice 
 Development; you must study the Italian, French and 
 German languages ; you must study Solfeggio ; also, a 
 thorough course in Style and Finish. At the completion 
 of this course you will be an excellent vocalist a lyric 
 soprano. 
 
 14
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Then, if you wish to become one of the operatic 
 stars, you must add to the course just mentioned Dra- 
 matic Action, Stage Deportment and the learning of en- 
 tire operas. This, you see, is acquired only by severe 
 and continuous application, and at extravagant expendi- 
 ture of money. 
 
 "Are you willing, Miss Pembroke, to make this abso- 
 lutely necessary sacrifice of your time, of your money, 
 your enjoyments ; in a word, all but the art of song?" she 
 demanded, inquisitively. 
 
 "I shall study until I become an operatic singer," 
 answered Julia, quietly, but decidedly. 
 
 "Are your parents willing you should pursue this 
 course?" interrogated Madame Cinati. 
 
 "My parents are both dead, and I am alone in Chi- 
 cago. I have five hundred dollars in gold, but I shall 
 begin to study at once, and before this money is expended, 
 no doubt, I shall be competent to teach a class of small 
 pupils. At any rate, I shall continue to study and teach 
 as long as necessary." 
 
 Madame Cinati, anxious to have so brilliant and- seri- 
 ous a girl for her protegee, begged Julia not to be of- 
 fended, but to accept a plan which she had to suggest. 
 
 "I shall be very happy, indeed," the prima donna be- 
 gan, sweetly, "if you will allow me to place you under 
 one of the most renowned teachers of song in Europe, 
 and give me permission to defray your entire expenses 
 until you have completed your education, which will re- 
 quire at least five or six years of closest application." 
 
 Seeing a look of hesitancy on Julia's face, Madame 
 Cinati continued, hastily: "Miss Pembroke, do not 
 answer me now ; think the matter over, then come to me 
 to-morrow and give me your decision. If you do not 
 follow my plan, I fear much the "world may lose you. 
 By looking with favor upon my plan I see you making
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 many triumphal tours of the world, singing all the beau- 
 tiful roles allotted the lyric soprano." 
 
 Julia, who, since singing, had remained standing, ap- 
 proached the prima donna, and, kneeling in front of her, 
 clasped both of Madame Cinati's hands in hers and kissed 
 them repeatedly in a rapture of ecstatic emotion. 
 
 "Madame Cinati," she began, "I thank you very, very 
 much, indeed, for your kindness in testing my voice, but 
 I can not express my gratitude for your magnanimous 
 offer to assist me in obtaining a musical education. I 
 should be glad to accept this proffered aid if you will 
 kindly allow me to repay you fully." 
 
 "The prima donna, smiling benignly, made answer: 
 "Just as you please about that, Miss Pembroke. It is 
 enough satisfaction for me that I have found a star. A 
 star you will be. I shall arrange every detail for you 
 before my engagements in Chicago terminate. When 
 would you like to begin your studies?" 
 
 "At once," came Julia's answer, in quick, decided 
 tones ; "at least as soon as it is possible for me to begin," 
 she added, thoughtfully. 
 
 "I like your spirit, truly I do," said Madame Cinati, 
 energetically. "You are a girl of action, I judge." 
 
 One week from that day Julia was on board one of 
 the big liners sailing out of New York harbor, on its 
 voyage across the Atlantic. 
 
 Julia, in looking back upon her life in Chicago, felt 
 herself ungrateful, indeed; for had she not been most 
 fortunate in finding a woman of Madame Cinati's gener- 
 osity? Had she not attained the heights for which her 
 soul longed? Ah, yes, she had done all all all, which 
 she had dared even to think of, and now she was gloomy 
 and saddened, because the master had suggested her go- 
 ing higher up the ladder of fame higher than had any 
 singer yet gone. 
 
 16
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 No, she would not allow a shade of disappointment 
 to remain; she was here, and surrounded by all that 
 could minister to the enhancement and embellishment of 
 life in artistic Paris, and she would be grateful for it, 
 and she would be genuinely happy throughout the entire 
 year. She would live in anticipation of the glorious 
 debut, when the date of her appearance should be set. 
 
 She frowned and bit her lip, for the bitter in her cup 
 of happiness lifted itself from the bottom, where she had 
 thrust it with the stroke of a powerful will, and she shud- 
 dered at its bitterness. 
 
 She arose with an elastic spring and went to the piano, 
 mentally saying, "My song will help me." She opened 
 the score of "Lucia" and at the place of the sextet. Soon 
 she was lost to all but its music and the meaning of the 
 words 
 
 " 'Twas my hope that death would hide me 
 
 From a doom of shame and anguish, 
 But that comfort is denied me ; 
 In despair I yet must languish," 
 
 for she had so thoroughly entered into the spirit of her 
 work that she was the original "Bride of Lammermoor," 
 and if there existed a difference in intensity of expressed 
 grief, it was in favor of Julia; for the master had been 
 as proud of her impersonations of the characters she 
 had assumed as he had ever been of her voice. 
 
 She had been singing but some twenty minutes when 
 a gentle, timid knock at the door recalled her from the 
 oblivion of her surroundings. 
 
 "Ah, that must be the concierge," she thought, as 
 she glanced at the little clock, which had smiled a real 
 interest in her progress since that first day when, six 
 years before, she had taken this apartment and had placed 
 
 17
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 that tiny clock upon the little stand beside the piano. 
 They had become the best of friends, for had not its 
 pretty white face, so distinctly marked with the heavy, 
 black Roman figures, become a living personality? And 
 had not the neat little hands marked the hours through 
 which she had pursued her course of study? 
 
 "Yes, it must be the concierge perhaps a letter from 
 Madame Cinati." Julia had surmised aright. It was the 
 concierge, and she handed Julia a letter. 
 
 After closing the door, she looked at the superscrip- 
 tion. That was Madame Cinati's handwriting, and the 
 postmark was London. She broke the seal with the 
 eagerness of a maiden in possession of her first letter and 
 read. 
 
 When she had finished she exclaimed: "Indeed, I 
 shall be there. How thoughtful dear Madame Cinati is ! 
 I am to hear Melba and Caruso in 'La Boheme' " for 
 they were to sing at Covent Garden on Saturday evening. 
 "Let me see; I shall go up to London Saturday morn- 
 ing; that will give me plenty of time to be in readiness 
 for the evening." 
 
 18
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The dining room of the Hotel Cecil, London, presented 
 an unusually gay and brilliant appearance, for grouped 
 everywhere throughout the magnificent room were many 
 parties, by whose conversation one could easily learn 
 that all might be taken for one great party, since it was 
 evident that Melba, Caruso, "La Boheme" and Covent 
 Garden formed the topic of conversation. 
 
 As one of the groups forming a part of the whole, 
 Madame Cinati, Lord and Lady Trent and Julia Pem- 
 broke formed not the least interesting group, for though 
 many seated as guests of the hotel had come up from 
 Paris and other foreign centers, many were Londoners. 
 As Lord and Lady Trent were of the most exclusive 
 aristocracy of the English capital, their presence was suf- 
 ficient to create a stir in the hearts of all lovers of society. 
 
 And, too, the table, at which was seated the great 
 prima donna, Madame Cinati Madame Cinati known to 
 many socially, to all through her art could not pass un- 
 noticed ; consequently the happy .little group of four was 
 a target for many eyes, and formed the subject of many 
 whispered comments. 
 
 To-night the meeting of these couples as they were 
 divided Lord and Lady Trent as one, Madame Cinati 
 and Julia Pembroke as the other was an occurrence 
 which had not been expected. Both were going to the 
 exceptional performance of "La Boheme" at Covent Gar- 
 den. Madame Cinati had known the Trents ever since 
 she had made her London debut at Covent Garden, some 
 fifteen years before. She was then about five-and-twenty, 
 a charming young singer, just appearing in that vast 
 
 19
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 firmament, the operatic world. Her fame had come, as 
 it often does to those great artists, at once. And ever 
 since her debut the Trents had been pleased to place her 
 name among the exclusive ones who graced the halls of 
 their manor or their London house. 
 
 The Trents had just come down to London from their 
 country seat in Essex. They were to go to Paris the 
 next day, and that was why they had stopped at the 
 Hotel Cecil instead of going to their London house, which 
 had been closed for the winter. 
 
 "Indeed, Madame Cinati," remarked Lady Trent, 
 whose face betrayed much anxiety, "my mind is never 
 at ease. You can not understand, my dear Madame, 
 what a commingling of joy and sorrow it is to be the 
 mother of a young soldier, facing the dangers of that 
 heathen land." 
 
 "Ah, indeed." sympathetically responded Madame 
 Cinati; "I know it must be a great sacrifice you loving 
 mothers make, when you send away your dear boys to 
 do duty for their country." 
 
 Lady Trent looked down at the truffled pintado on 
 toast which the waiter at that moment placed before her. 
 Then pathetically elevating her eyebrows, she went on: 
 "Yes, the sacrifice is great, and not an hour passes but 
 I feel a foreboding of danger. I try to overcome this 
 weakness, but to no purpose, for the fear" 
 
 "Ah, tut ! tut !" stoutly interrupted Lord Trent. "Let 
 us be joyous here in the heart of our Merry Old Eng- 
 land" and he sat back to laugh, as if to lead in the joy 
 he had suggested, as soon as he should swallow the bit 
 of artichoke he had just taken. 
 
 "How clever of you, how clever of you, Lord Trent !" 
 said Madame Cinati, and a low golden ripple escaped 
 her lips. "I assure you I wish to be accounted one of 
 your followers; but," and her face grew very tender 
 
 20
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 as she concluded, addressing Lady Trent, "he has not a 
 mother's heart, has he?" 
 
 Lady Trent again lowered her gaze, but this time it 
 was down upon the floor. The mention of her sacrifice, 
 and especially the mention of her beloved son, had touched 
 her deeply. At this time Lady Trent was particularly 
 sensitive to all that pertained to her son, for on Monday 
 next, within some few hours, she was to clasp to her 
 bosom her darling child, who during the past eight years 
 had been far away in India, faithfully discharging his 
 duty as a lieutenant in the British army, and now he had 
 been granted a leave of absence, and Lord and Lady 
 Trent would meet him in Paris, where they were to re- 
 main for some time. 
 
 But before Lady Trent had averted her eyes she had 
 seen the peculiar nervousness betrayed in the eye of Julia 
 Pembroke, who sat across the table from her. As was 
 her mental habit, she at once attributed this nervousness 
 on Julia's part to a sentimental feeling for her soldier 
 boy. Every young woman of marriageable age and 
 every fond mamma were, in her opinion, interested in 
 the welfare of her son; in fact, no one of the feminine 
 portion of those exercised over the conditions of the mat- 
 rimonial market were exempt from the consideration of 
 Lady Trent ; but in this she was not unlike many another 
 fond mamma, and so, by right of motherhood, should 
 have a goodly portion of charity. A very few marriage 
 contracts would have been acceptable to her when it 
 came to the placement of her son's signature thereto. 
 
 Had Lady Trent been wiser than she thought herself 
 to be, she would have known that Julia Pembroke's ear 
 had been deaf to most that she and Madame Cinati had 
 said of her son; perhaps had heard nothing, connectedly, 
 of the dashing young English officer Lieutenant Trent. 
 
 "How, now, my little American friend !" jollily inter- 
 
 21
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 jected Lord Trent, not allowing time for Lady Trent 
 to respond to Madame Cinati. "How, now! I see you 
 can not join with Merry England; you are not able to 
 eat roast beef and good salad." This he addressed to 
 Julia, who had refused the roast beef and was now sit- 
 ting back in her chair, with the salad untouched before 
 her. 
 
 "Then, Lord Trent," quickly responded Julia, "I shall 
 eat roast beef all my life ; but you will kindly permit my 
 objecting to the salad." 
 
 "Why so, Miss Pembroke? Salad good, fresh salad 
 is half the dinner. And this salad is excellent." And 
 Lord Trent cut and cut and cut his salad, pouring on 
 oil and vinegar and vinegar and oil, until Lady Trent 
 begged him to desist. 
 
 "No doubt, Lord Trent, you will laugh when I tell 
 you that I am very fond of salad as fond, I judge, as 
 you are ; but I am, thus far, a martyr to the art of song. 
 Acids are one of the 'don'ts' of our diet." 
 
 "Lord Trent," broke in Madame Cinati, "in our little 
 aside chat here Lady Trent has consented to grace 
 my box with her presence on Monday next, when I sing 
 in 'Les Huguenots' at the Paris Opera. I may hope for 
 your kind acceptance of a seat beside her, may I not?" 
 
 "You certainly can, my dear Madame Cinati. I accept 
 with much pleasure your very gracious invitation," said 
 Lord Trent. Then, bowing to Madame Cinati, he con- 
 tinued- "I should travel many, many miles to see and 
 hear the greatest of Queen Marguerites." 
 
 When Lord Trent had ceased speaking, Madame Cin- 
 ati, delicately poising the dainty spoon above the orange 
 of which she had been eating, smiled in her most fas- 
 cinating manner, and said: "I fear me you do me too 
 much honor." ; then glancing quickly from Lord to Lady 
 Trent, she went on: "Thank you, thank you, thank you 
 
 22
 
 AX AMERICAN SIXGER IX PARIS. 
 
 both; your acceptance does me proud. I shall sing my 
 best to the occupants of my box the Lord and Lady 
 Trent and the brave Lieutenant Trent." 
 
 Madame Cinati did not include Julia, for the reason 
 that Julia could not be a guest in the opera box o Mad- 
 ame Cinati, since during the entire period of her study 
 in Paris this box had been at her disposal whenever she 
 chose to attend the opera; even though often occupied 
 by guests of Madame Cinati, a seat was always reserved 
 for Julia Pembroke. 
 
 Julia's eyes never once raised to meet those of Lady 
 Trent, but the pink of her complexion deepened to a 
 bright rose. 
 
 Lady Trent sa\v the color come and go, and inwardly 
 enjoyed it. 
 
 Had she divined the real cause, she would have found 
 it in the behavior of the gentleman seated at the table 
 behind herself, and who sat facing Julia; and had she 
 continued her observation she would have seen, as every 
 student of human nature would have seen, the wireless 
 messages passing from his strong, manly face, especially 
 from his handsome black eyes, so full of manly fire, to 
 the beautiful soft blue eyes, into which the message had 
 gone without protest 
 
 Julia, who in all her life had never been guilty of an 
 indiscretion, felt annoyed. But with whom? Surely 
 not with the sender of. the tender message. To think ill 
 of him could not occur to her as right, for what had he 
 done? she inwardly asked herself. He was partaking of 
 the evening meal, in the Hotel Cecil, just as she was, 
 and had all the rights and privileges to use his eyes just 
 as well as she had. 
 
 Why, she thought, did she feel his regard and invol- 
 untarily return it in the same manner ? This was a ques- 
 tion which she was powerless to answer, for never before 
 
 23
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 in her life had any pair of eyes and she had encoun- 
 tered many thousands made such havoc of her innate 
 decorum much less had she ever before found herself 
 awakened to that stirring something now kindling within 
 her soul that something which caused an unwonted com- 
 motion within her ; for two powerful emotions were con- 
 tending for mastery of her when the dinner ended. Had 
 Julia been able to penetrate the veil of mystery which at 
 all times surrounds all persons, she had known that the 
 pair of handsome eyes which had put her into this flutter 
 was the same pair bent down upon her when she was 
 handed the lost music on Rue Murillo; she had known, 
 too, that the same pair of eyes had rested upon her many 
 times during the crossing of the Channel, on her way from 
 Paris to London, earlier in the day. 
 
 But at this moment she was innocent of all, except 
 that she had been subjected to an unusual force from 
 without, and that she had trembled at its power; so, 
 without turning her head in the direction of the Adam 
 who had entered her Eden of musical bliss, she left the 
 scene of the strangest battle of her life, and disappeared 
 from view of the stranger, who sat enjoying a cup of 
 fragrant coffee of most delicious aroma.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 On the following evening but one, in the Paris Opera, 
 which, for descriptive beauty, lacks an adjective, were 
 gathered together all the wealth and pomp and beauty 
 for which this city stands preeminent. 
 
 Down in the orchestra stood a young man, who had 
 not yet seated himself. Like many others in the orches- 
 tra, he was standing in his place, with his back to the 
 stage, while his eyes went quietly and slowly around the 
 glittering horseshoe. He was not fully alive to the effect 
 of that scene before him. While others might look 
 through opera glasses for long at the dazzling brilliancy 
 of the occupants of the boxes, this particular stranger 
 could not be said to have allowed his glasses to point in 
 any direction, for they were seen to move constantly from 
 left to right each time he raised them to his eyes. This 
 gentleman, Hampton Alverstone, was handsome, and to 
 the fair sex he would be very handsome, for his black 
 eyes were large and luminous. The complexion, no doubt, 
 was by nature white, but it was very evident that so- 
 journs beneath torrid suns had made it a reddish brown ; 
 but that, together with the short pointed beard and mus- 
 tache of a real French turn of the ends, made for a 
 strikingly attractive face, for the nose was long and high, 
 giving the appearance of much strength of character. 
 In stature he was above the average for man, and every 
 fiber of his symmetrical body was firmly and strongly 
 knit together. He was straight and he moved easily and 
 gracefully, yet with a strong, manly bearing. His step 
 was firm, and carried with it a ring of genuine self- 
 assurance, without that snobbish obtrusiveness, the chief 
 
 25
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 characteristic of many persons whose few or many dol- 
 lars carry them away from the narrowness of an early 
 life into the broad daylight of the world. 
 
 In the left hand of Alverstone, upon which was a 
 white glove, he carried the other glove, while in his right 
 hand he held the glasses when not in use. After many 
 surveys of the tiers his right arm dropped to his side and 
 a look of disappointment came into his face. It was ob- 
 vious that he saw not the one for whom he sought in all 
 that glittering array of beautiful women and of handsome 
 men, displaying the dress, the manners, the customs of 
 many nations, gathered together to hear and to see that 
 great lyric prima donna, Madame Cinati. It was a sight 
 of fine fabrics, of costly gems, of flashing jewels, of 
 beauty, of all that untold wealth could buy a fascinating 
 sight, such as Solomon in all his glory never saw, and in 
 the vividness of his imagination never conceived. 
 
 Again he lifted the glasses, but this time he looked 
 in one direction only, for he had noted at the last survey 
 that only one box remained unoccupied. As he now 
 brought this box near he saw a man in soldier's uniform 
 enter the box and sit down, with his back turned toward 
 the stage, and he seemed to be looking expectantly toward 
 the entrance of the box, which was open. Hampton Alver- 
 stone had known Madame Cinati as the great lyric so- 
 prano at the Hotel Cecil on the Saturday evening before, 
 and he thought that the young lady forming one of the 
 party at the table with Madame Cinati would, no doubt, 
 come down to Paris to attend this performance. He had 
 had little to assist him in obtaining a clew to the person- 
 ality of the object of his passionate love, but since the 
 development of true love between the first pair of sigh- 
 ing lovers, true love has never known insurmountable 
 barriers ; on the contrary, the more difficult of possession 
 the more determined is Cupid that his shaft fails not to 
 
 26
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 pierce and fasten forever the hearts at which he aims. 
 
 Alverstone turned and sat down, for the leader of the 
 orchestra had rapped for attention, and the musicians 
 ceased tuning and turned toward the director, in obedi- 
 ence to the summons. This box, which alone held inter- 
 est for Alverstone, was to his left and a little in front 
 of his seat. It was very easy for him to divide his atten- 
 tion between the box and the performers upon the stage. 
 He knew that the blue-eyed young woman whom he had 
 pleased to follow must have a seat in that box, if she 
 came at all ; for the entire house with this exception was 
 filled before he had taken his seat. He told himself that 
 he could afford to wait, if perchance he might yet see 
 this young woman, but she came not, and the gay chorus 
 was ended and De Nevers was singing. He assured him- 
 self that she might come yet, and he flattered himself 
 that she seemed pleased with his notice of her in the Hotel 
 Cecil at least he was sure she had given no sign of 
 annoyance. 
 
 He had traveled far and wide, all over the civilized 
 world, and in many parts of the world not civilized. His 
 wealth was great, for he was rated as one of the very 
 rich men of New York City. It was known that he was 
 the owner of a very comfortable number of millions. As 
 a companion he was unsurpassed, for on an ocean liner 
 he was sure to find himself the central figure of the most 
 interesting coterie on board ; every one was pleased with 
 Mr. Alverstone, and why should they not be? 
 
 To a lady whose society he found agreeable he would 
 read aloud for hours, then in a short time after he was 
 in the smoking room with some genial companions of 
 his own sex. A party of schoolgirls doing a mile, in 
 so many turns of the promenade deck, found him a gay 
 pedestrian, entering into the constitutional for an hour 
 at a time, and it was easily seen he was very acceptable 
 
 27
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 to the fresh young maidens in their simple, almost child- 
 ish glee. 
 
 From a rude person he would turn away, never for 
 a moment forgetting that the most such persons merit 
 is a look of reproach, if so much as that. He could have 
 spoken of close intimacies with many of the crowned 
 heads of many countries, and of closer intimacy with 
 many at the head of governments as powerful, yet with 
 hot a crown but that of good citizenship. He was 
 never found wanting in each and every virtue, consistent 
 with the bearing of a gentleman, who is such by nature 
 as well as by culture. 
 
 A man of this fashion could not but please a woman 
 such as Julia Pembroke was, for to be such a gentleman 
 as Hampton Alverstone means, first of all, to be a manly 
 man, and, second, to be that other man, the result of all 
 that education and culture, by extensive reading and 
 travel, can produce; and he was both in the highest de- 
 gree. 
 
 While Raoul was singing the romanza, "Plus blanche 
 qu' hermine," there was a stir in the box under surveil- 
 lance. Alverstone heard not more the song, for his brain 
 was responsive only to the picture before his eyes. The 
 young soldier, who had up to this time occupied the box 
 alone, now arose, stepped to the right with his back still 
 turned, and saluted the stately dame who entered and 
 came directly to a seat at the front of the box. Alver- 
 stone saw at once that this was the same woman who had 
 formed one of the party at the table with Madame Cinati 
 in the Hotel Cecil, at London, on the previous Saturday 
 evening. 
 
 The house at this time was darkened, and Alverstone 
 strained to see if the other members of that dinner party 
 were to follow the one who was now seated. His eyes 
 
 28
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 dilated as he looked with intensity to see if she this 
 young woman this other member of the dinner party, 
 would follow. 
 
 Coming close behind the elder woman he saw what? 
 Yes, yes, there she was; it was no one else. All had 
 turned out as he had expected. The young woman had 
 entered, and, after acknowledging the salutation of the 
 young officer, came forward and took a seat beside the 
 one who had first entered, and who was then looking 
 intently at the singer, for the high note of the climax was 
 singing. After her came the "gentleman who had also 
 been one of that party in London. He looked kindly at 
 the officer, saluting him, and smiled his approval, and 
 then he took his seat directly behind the elder lady, while 
 the officer took the chair behind the young lady. 
 
 By this grouping it was impossible that Alverstone 
 should see the face of the officer, for his face was hidden 
 by the position of the elder lady. 
 
 The opera went on, Raoul had finished, the page was 
 singing "Salut, beau cavalier," but Alverstone heard noth- 
 ing, saw nothing, but the face of the young woman in 
 that one particular box. 
 
 Alverstone judged from the manner in which the 
 elder lady treated this young officer that he must be her 
 son, for on the part of the lady was that tender affection, 
 accompanied by that slow, gentle, sure inclination of the 
 body a loving mother's regard, whether expressed or 
 understood. 
 
 Perhaps she is the officer's sister, he went on in his 
 thought. No, brother or any relation by consanguinity 
 never bent so tenderly to hear each word the companion 
 of the gentler sex might wish to say. 
 
 Her radiant smiles were divided between the stage 
 and the young officer. Alverstone could not repress a 
 
 29
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 feeling of bitter disappointment. He now felt a dull thud 
 instead of the strong-, warm heart-throb with which he 
 had greeted the young woman's appearance. At last the 
 thought which at first he had entertained, but of which 
 he had not allowed himself to continue, struck him 
 boldly, and struck him as true. He knew it now; this 
 young officer was her fiance, or would be. It was a 
 bitter, gloomy thought, and for Alverstone the evening 
 was dark. 
 
 The curtain dropped; the first act was ended. The 
 lights came on all was again brilliant. Many through- 
 out the house got up and went out, but Alverstone re- 
 mained seated and motionless, with his eyes riveted upon 
 the box, for the old gentleman had left the box, and the 
 young officer had taken the seat made 1 vacant by him. 
 
 Alverstone's breath came hard and quick, as if from 
 some darting sensations of pain following each other in 
 quick succession. 
 
 Why, that was the English officer, Lieutenant Regi- 
 nald Trent, whom he had known so well in India, and 
 the pleasurable emotion passed, for a pang of sorrow 
 shot through his heart he had loved a betrothed young 
 woman betrothed to one of his best friends. To Alver- 
 stone it never occurred that it might be his right to think 
 of gaining her affection, much less to think of making 
 her his wife. He sat helpless in the throes of bitter dis- 
 appointment, but he had not long to meditate upon his 
 condition, for Reginald Trent it was his friend, Lieu- 
 tenant Trent left the box, and Alverstone immediately 
 went out in great haste, intending to meet him in the 
 grand foyer, if possible. When he started up the grand 
 staircase of the Opera he saw Lieutenant Trent at the 
 top, where he had stepped aside and was deferentially 
 awaiting the passing of a party of young schoolgirls, 
 chaperoned by three teachers of their school. It was
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 indeed a pretty sight, and the young English brave was 
 as keenly alive to the pretty stir and flutter of the fresh 
 young beauties as he would have been had the scene been 
 one more precisely suited to his martial nature. He 
 stood smiling upon them, while they passed. They 
 ranged in ages from fourteen to eighteen. In the bevy 
 was the dainty, modest, graceful and beautiful French 
 girl, truly feminine. In the flash of those living eyes 
 there lay a strength of femininity whose power she knew 
 and would use when her hour should arrive. In a word, 
 she was transcendantly perfect in those qualities which 
 are diametrically opposed to what is masculine. There, 
 too, was the young English girl, as sweet as English airs 
 could make her. She had come across the Channel from 
 her own little, yet all-sufficient, island, to learn of those 
 pretty graces which the French people are so well pre- 
 pared to teach. Her straight high-bearing carried with 
 it that self-reliant poise so characteristic of the fully de- 
 veloped English woman, delightfully reminding one of 
 the freshest of June roses, nodding hither and thither, 
 when blown about by the warm, caressing breezes of sum- 
 mer ; and this poise of character is the greatest charm of 
 the English girl, as it is in later years the charm of the 
 English woman, for the English woman must be consid- 
 ered a womanly woman no, put down as the womanli- 
 est woman of womankind. 
 
 Last, but most conspicuous of the school, was a 
 large sprinkling of the young girl from beyond the At- 
 lantic bright, sparkling, talkative, too brilliant in man- 
 ners for the simplicity of dress required as a part of the 
 education of young girls of the refined class of European 
 society. She carried with her as an inseparable ingredient 
 of her physical, mental and moral composition that self- 
 sufficiency which belongs to the American girl and to the 
 American woman alike. Should there be any degree of 
 
 81
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 difference at all, the surplus goes with the girl, and not 
 with the woman, for the American girl leads in her own 
 land. At the age of twelve she begins to chafe under 
 the direction of any force from without herself. She 
 plans for her clothes, from the minutest detail on up to 
 the most elaborate of costumes costumes of extrava- 
 gance, of conspicuity for which no European young girl 
 dare entertain even a desire. 
 
 In truth, the European would as soon think of mar- 
 riage without the consent of her guardian as she would 
 think of arraying herself in showy costumes, bedecking 
 herself with jewels and displaying her personal charms as 
 does the American on every occasion. 
 
 When the young girl of America steps out of the pri- 
 mary department of life, she accepts no intermediate 
 state. At once she feels herself full-fledged and ready, 
 not for a timid bird's flight, but for the flight of that 
 large liberty-loving bird the glorious eagle, emblem of 
 that country of which this girl is an exponent. Unlike 
 her sisters across the sea, the American girl is a woman 
 in mind and action, though a tender child in years. 
 
 Lieutenant Trent stood quite still and looked after 
 the vanishing school, smiling his appreciation of their 
 feminine tactics, and smiling an especial appreciation of 
 the security of the English home over which such 
 young English girls would soon preside ; for a sol- 
 dier looks upon every one as a defender of his own par- 
 ticular country, the man a direct defender and the woman 
 an indirect; consequently he is an ardent lover of every 
 man and of every woman. 
 
 He turned his" head abruptly at the sound of a well- 
 known voice beside him, and grasped the outstretched 
 hand, shaking it heartily. "Why, Alverstone, what an un- 
 expected pleasure you give me ! I thought you had gone 
 to America. You are well, I see." 
 
 32
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Yes, I am very well, thank you. I am on my way 
 to America. I stop in Paris for a short time only. Truly, 
 I am glad I came here." 
 
 "And I am, too. We shall have a fine time here, for 
 my parents came down to meet me, and we remain in 
 Paris for some time. Come, old boy," he added, letting 
 fall his hand, in friendly fashion, upon the shoulder of 
 Alverstone; "come, let me introduce you to my parents. 
 I know they will be glad to meet one of my tried and 
 trusted old friends, and I think you will like them." 
 
 "Indeed," returned Alverstone, "I shall c'ertainly like 
 the parents of my good friend, Lieutenant Trent." 
 
 "Thank you," replied Trent, and they went on to- 
 gether in the direction of the box, for Trent wished to 
 introduce his friend before the beginning of the second 
 act. 
 
 As they neared the box Trent lowered his voice, and, 
 inclining toward his friend, said in a confidential tone 
 of voice, while Alverstone felt his blood run cold, for 
 he feared Trent was about to say that he would also 
 introduce him to his fiancee, .but he only heard: "My 
 dear Alverstone, there is in the box a guest of Madame 
 Cinati one of your own countrywomen a protege of 
 Madame Cinati; I find her very interesting, quite 
 intelligent upon many subjects; quite the opposite of 
 many singers, and mother tells me she has a very fine 
 soprano voice." 
 
 Alverstone, who had played a .very successful part, 
 by preserving a calm and politely interested expression 
 of face, said: "I shall feel very happy, indeed, to meet 
 Lord and Lady Trent," and, laughing agreeably, he 
 added, "and I am always pleased to meet an American, 
 especially to meet an American girl whom I shall find 
 in intimate association with Lady Trent your mother." 
 
 33
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Although Alverstone had no personal acquaintance 
 with Lord or Lady Trent, he had known their son inti- 
 mately in India, and he knew well the family rank in 
 England. 
 
 He was congratulating himself upon his good for- 
 tune in thus meeting his friend Trent, when, as if to 
 prove the truth of the trite saying, "There is no rose 
 without a thorn," he saw, talking with an attendant of 
 the vestiary, a woman, and, though the woman stood 
 with her back turned toward the two men, this was 
 sufficient for Alverstone. He knew her, and turned his 
 face from her to look at Trent, who, fortunately, was 
 upon his right, while she was upon his left. 
 
 Alverstone recognized the woman as an acquaintance 
 in Calcutta, India, and a person of whom he had 
 always felt a secret dread. Why, he could not have ex- 
 plained, but certain he was that he felt most uncomfort- 
 able in her presence. The last time he had been with 
 her, in Calcutta, he was glad to be able to tell her that 
 he was soon leaving for America. 
 
 Without his knowledge, this same woman took ad- 
 vantage of this information and planned accordingly. 
 She loved this Alverstone with a love born of desperate 
 passion, and this passion for the young American had 
 torn her bodily and mentally since that evening when 
 her husband, Banker Nitolsk, the great financier, had 
 introduced him as a friend, whom he trusted enough to 
 admit into the sacred precincts of his family circle, and 
 this trust Alverstone had never betrayed. 
 
 A few thoughts flashed with lightning rapidity 
 through the brain of Alverstone. 
 
 Strange she had not told him of this intended visit 
 to Paris. He had told her on the evening of his depar- 
 ture from Calcutta that he had planned to stop at Paris 
 on his way home to New York. 
 
 34
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Strange with all this intelligence that she had not 
 mentioned the fact of her visit, for she must have left 
 India the same time he did. 
 
 "Here we are," said Trent, as he signified the en- 
 trance to the box, which was their objective point. 
 
 As Alverstone turned to the right to enter the box, 
 he looked into the face of Lieutenant Trent, who was 
 still at his right, and in so doing he was able to see, un- 
 perceived, that Madame Nitolsk had not moved from 
 the spot where she had been when they had passed her. 
 He knew she had seen and rcognized him. He hoped, 
 however, that she did not think he had seen her. 
 
 The formalities of the introduction being over, Alver- 
 stone accepted Lady Trent's very kind invitation to spend 
 the remainder of the evening with them. Trent placed 
 two chairs for himself and Alverstone to the left of Julia, 
 yet behind her and forming a quadrant, so that when she 
 turned to her left she looked into the face of both, but 
 more easily into the face of Hampton Alverstone. 
 
 When Alverstone had entered the box a warm blush 
 had made itself felt upon the face and throat of Julia, but 
 as she turned her eyes upon him when he took the chair 
 to which Lieutenant Trent had invited him she smiled 
 as composedly as if he were an old friend. 
 
 Though little of interest was said during the remain- 
 der of the evening, at least little that might be construed 
 into a happy denouement of Cupid's intrigues, he was 
 alert and constantly watching for a favorable opportunity 
 to use his bow and arrow, and as he is a very wary little 
 elf, with tactical skill in concentrating his forces upon the 
 eyes, he sent many a shaft to the exact spot, for through- 
 out the entire evening he fought with the zeal and 
 tenacity of a Napoleon. 
 
 When the aria, "O beau pays de la Touraine," was 
 finished, Alverstone declared that he had never heard 
 
 35
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 any one sing so divinely, and little Cupid tittered, for 
 he understood why the singing was unusual to Alver- 
 stone. Madame Cinati always sang well, always cre- 
 ated the same furore she had created tonight. Her 
 name alone was sufficient to fill the house at any time 
 of the year, either in season or out of season. 
 
 In the fourth act, when Raoul, kneeling to Valentine, 
 sang in his passionately dramatic tone, "Tu m' dimes!" 
 Julia's eyes involuntarily sought those of her newly found 
 friend, but for only a passing moment. She smiled 
 sweetly and unconsciously, and it was her unconscious- 
 ness that pleased Alverstone. 
 
 From this attention he judged that this American 
 girl was free to accept any declaration which he, in the 
 course of events, should wish to make to her. He thought 
 she had kept pace with him in the regard with which 
 they had been pleased to notice each other. Surely at 
 the .earliest opportunity he would make known his love 
 by words they had done so by strokes of the eye. 
 
 She reminded him much of his boyhood days and of 
 his boyhood surroundings. Perhaps that was why she 
 appealed to him in such a manner as to arouse what 
 should have been his boyhood love, and what in reality 
 was the same, for in all his eight-and-twenty years of 
 life he had not known love for any woman; at least he 
 had not met a woman who had been capable of inspiring 
 this high, noble emotion, which dwells in the soul and 
 which can destroy the body, the soul, or both. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Alverstone, do not, I pray you, disappoint 
 us on to-morrow." This Lady Trent urged upon Alver- 
 stone with a very cordial manner. She loved her son 
 so devotedly that every one who in any measure ad- 
 ministered to his happiness in life, came in for a warm 
 maternal embrace, so to speak. 
 
 36
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Alverstone could now enjoy fully that bounty and 
 hospitality lavished upon those within the circle of her 
 acquaintance. . 
 
 "Thank you, Lady Trent ; this is charming," said Al- 
 verstone; "I shall surely avail of this privilege." 
 
 And while bowing to the party within the auto, he for- 
 got not to give his last smile to Julia, who sat as quietly 
 consistent as the most conventional English aristocracy 
 might exact. And she absorbed the warmth of his glance 
 and sweetly answered back in the same silent language 
 a smile. 
 
 "Mother," said Lieutenant Trent, "I should like to 
 walk home with Alverstone." 
 
 Lady Trent beamed upon her boy, saluting before her, 
 and replied: "Though I have not had you for the past 
 eight years, I am not jealous. Go, my son, and enjoy 
 the fine air this beautiful night. I like your friend; he 
 will do you no harm." 
 
 Alverstone and Trent, with hats raised, bowed their 
 thanks, the good nights were said, the door closed and 
 the electric landau sped away from the Opera, off around 
 the corner, out the Boulevard des Capucines, down Rue 
 Royale, across the Place de la Concorde, up Champs 
 Elysees. 
 
 37
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "Pshaw !" ejaculated Lieutenant Trent, when in front 
 of the Grand-Hotel des Capucines, "I have lost my opera 
 glasses. They .are priceless for the bit of daring con- 
 nected with the history of my possession of them." 
 
 "Let us return and look for them," suggested Alver- 
 stone. When they had reached the Opera, Trent said: 
 "Stay here, Alverstone; I'll run up and see if they are in 
 the box. I think I recall laying them on that chair near 
 the door." 
 
 Then he ran up the steps, and Alverstone saw him 
 disappear, after ascending the grand staircase within. 
 
 Alverstone stood perfectly still, thinking over the 
 events of the evening, and especially over the good for- 
 tune he had had in meeting the young singer, whose ac- 
 quaintance he had so earnestly longed to make. Then the 
 dreaded vision of Madame Nitolsk swept across his brain. 
 It was like a sirocco from the desert, parching and blast- 
 ing every vestige of living, growing vegetation in its 
 path, for under the sweep of that dreaded vision every 
 tender feeling, every knightly sentiment, every emotion of 
 love subsided, and, as it were, became dead grass and 
 lifeless stubble ; or, to change the figure, the horrid pres- 
 ence was to him a bitter precipitant poisoning his then 
 cup of sweets. 
 
 He started at the familiar touch of a dreaded hand 
 laid upon his arm. "I make you start, do I?" said the 
 sweet, deep voice of Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 "Indeed, you do me that honor," laughed Alverstone, 
 in affected surprise. 
 
 "You did not think to find me here," went on the
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 same low voice, as before, though perhaps a trifle deeper 
 than that in which had been made the interrogation. 
 
 "Truly not/' responded Alverstone. "I thought you 
 said when last I saw you that you intended remaining 
 in India another year, and that from there you would go 
 to Russia." 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Alverstone, you seem to forget what all ad- 
 mirers of the clinging sex should know." 
 
 "What is that?" he asked, in real surprise. 
 
 "That woman is ever changeful, and that not for one 
 hour does she know whither herself will lead herself." 
 
 This she answered in a manner so flippant that Alver- 
 stone's eyes rested upon her in a set stare, for he had not 
 before known her in this mood. 
 
 The cunning eye of Madame Nitolsk quickly caught 
 the meaning of the expression upon his face, and 
 she hastened to add, by way of palliation : "Perhaps you 
 think my character a trifle lighter than you had yet seen. 
 Well, my dear friend, I have been a widow for over a 
 year, and my life during this period of seclusion has 
 been too sombre for health. I was forced to seek a 
 change, and surely in this gay city I ought to find the 
 requisite medicine." 
 
 This she said low and hurriedly, for she had seen 
 though Alverstone had not seen that the young officer 
 was returning. 
 
 "I am in fine luck," said Trent on nearing Alverstone. 
 "That policeman yonder picked up my glasses." 
 
 As Trent came down the steps Madame Nitolsk 
 turned and moved slowly away and toward the street, 
 so that Trent did not see that she and Alverstone had 
 been together. 
 
 Alverstone, fearing lest he might anger her by the 
 least show of neglect on his part, made mention to Trent 
 that she was a friend of his in India, and that they had 
 
 39
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 met here very unexpectedly at the moment when he had 
 gone into the Opera, and he finished by asking: "Will 
 you meet her, Lieutenant?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, certainly," answered Trent, with emphatic 
 eagerness. 
 
 "Madame Nitolsk," said Alverstone, for she had 
 moved but a short distance from them, "may I have the 
 honor to introduce my friend, Lieutenant Trent, a British 
 officer, stationed in India?" 
 
 Madame Nitolsk had expected this, for she under- 
 stood the generous nature of Alverstone, and had gone 
 very slowly as she went away. On hearing the address, 
 she turned and graciously acknowledged the introduction. 
 
 "Indeed," said Lieutenant Trent, saluting respect- 
 fully, "I had the honor of an acquaintance with the late 
 Monsieur Nitolsk, the financier." 
 
 "Ah, indeed! this is delightful," replied Madame 
 Nitolsk, and she looked in the direction of a carriage 
 then passing near. 
 
 Trent, thinking she desired a carriage, asked: "May 
 I get you a carriage ?" 
 
 "Oh, no," she answered; "I live just a few steps from 
 here, on Rue Caumartin." 
 
 "We go in that direction. May we have the pleasure 
 of the walk with you?" asked Trent. 
 
 "Thank you, Lieutenant Trent; I shall esteem it a 
 favor. We can chat as we go," she said, and they started 
 up the Rue Auber. "I am much interested in your posi- 
 tion in India," she went on, addressing herself to Trent. 
 "How came you to know my husband?" 
 
 "It was in a Sepoy mutiny," replied Trent. "I was 
 captured by the enemy, but soon escaped, and succeeded 
 in getting back to Delhi, closely pursued, however, by a 
 howling band, closing in fast upon me. I darted into a 
 bank and pleaded for protection, when a man seated in 
 
 40
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the private office unlocked the door and said, 'Come into 
 my office.' He showed me a hidden vault in the wall, 
 which I had just entered when the terrible roar of my 
 pursuers was heard, for they had seen me enter the bank. 
 Banker Nitolsk, for it was he who saved my life, invited 
 them to examine the room, but they could not find me, 
 for no sign of the door leading into my place of conceal- 
 ment was at all visible. After they had gone on their 
 way I was taken out, more dead than alive." 
 
 "Ah, indeed ! that was like my husband. He was so 
 resourceful ; always prepared to meet every emergency." 
 
 And her handkerchief was called into requisition, for 
 the tears were running down her cheeks, but she caught 
 them, thus displaying dramatic grace, something that 
 counted for much to her. After a moment's silence, she 
 went on: "Ah, I remember; you are the young officer 
 who gave my husband the jeweled sword, are you not?' 7 
 
 This she emphasized, not only by the energy of tone 
 and movement of words, but also by the impulsive, 
 though gentle, grasp of his arm, which she patted caress- 
 ingly with the other hand. 
 
 "Yes, I gave him a sword out of the gratitude I felt 
 toward him." 
 
 "I have the sword here in Paris with me." 
 
 "Indeed !" said Trent, with strong emphasis. 
 
 "Yes, I have many mementos of my husband, for 
 I wish our little son, Adino, to see them every day and 
 to knpw the value of each to his late papa." 
 
 She desired her son to become a great banker like 
 his father, for she knew that a splendid man had gone 
 from earth when her husband had died. Banker Nitolsk 
 stood without a superior, and he had few peers when 
 judged for his abilities and boundless resources as a 
 financier. 
 
 "I was much grieved to hear of his death," added
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Trent. "At the time I was on duty in the North, near 
 Serinagur." 
 
 This came from the Lieutenant slowly and solemnly. 
 Perhaps, as was natural, in fancy he was standing before 
 his rescuer, expressing his gratitude, while the words he 
 was speaking to the widow passed out mechanically. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk, slipping one hand through his arm 
 and dropping it gently, lightly tapping his hand with the 
 tips of her ringers, said, in an imploring, beseeching 
 voice: "You will do me the favor to bestow this kind 
 remembrance of my dear dead husband upon myself and 
 our little son, Adino, will you not?" 
 
 "That I shall certainly do, for to your husband's pres- 
 ence of mind I owe my life. I am ever at your service, 
 Madame Nitolsk, whenever, in honor, I can serve you." 
 
 "Thank you, Lieutenant Trent; I shall remember 
 this. Here is my home," she said, stopping in front of 
 a very handsome building. "I have taken this for a 
 year." 
 
 Then she turned to Alverstone, and in her sweetest 
 manner said: "My dear Mr. Alverstone, you are gener- 
 ous, and you can appreciate the situation, so do not feel, 
 I beg of you, that Lieutenant Trent and I intentionally 
 avoided speaking directly with you." 
 
 "Ah, Madame Nitolsk, I could not attribute even an 
 unkindness to my friend, Lieutenant Trent, and I hope 
 I may hold Madame Nitolsk in the same high regard," 
 politely replied Alverstone. 
 
 "Indeed you may," responded Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 Then, laying a hand on the arm of each of the young 
 men, she said, in an indescribably sweet voice: "I beg 
 of you, visit me early. Come informally, if you will, to- 
 gether or separately ; you know me, and, being connected 
 with my dead husband, who loved you both, I really have 
 for you a very tender regard." 
 
 42
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Then she put up her handkerchief and touched her 
 eyes, as if to catch unshed tears that might at least be 
 supposed to lurk there. 
 
 The men promised all she wished, and, bowing be- 
 comingly, departed. At the same time she went in, for 
 her butler had opened in response to the ring, and had 
 stood ceremoniously by, awaiting her pleasure, for cere- 
 mony ruled her with a tyrannical hand, and she, in her 
 turn, as despotically governed her servants. 
 
 During the walk from the Opera to her home, Al- 
 verstone had been pleased to find her entertained by 
 Trent, for he was glad to be allowed quiet, in which to 
 think over the fortunate turn which had led Trent and 
 himself to meet at this time; for, had it not been for 
 Trent, he had not now known Miss Pembroke. Over all 
 this delightful musing there hung a cloud, but he was 
 far too happy for it to cause him much annoyance. 
 
 He had cared nothing at all for Madame Nitolsk; 
 really, he owned to himself that he was not only impas- 
 sive, but that, in truth, he disliked her. 
 
 In Calcutta she had annoyed him with her importuni- 
 ties urging his acceptance of invitations to social func- 
 tions, in which she reigned a social queen; for she was 
 the wife of a very influential man, and she knew how to 
 profit by her position, which was well supported by all 
 to which wealth can minister. During the past year 
 Hampton Alverstone had left Calcutta often, simply to 
 be away from her; but he soon found her at the same 
 place, and always upon a very genuine pretext. 
 
 Finally, in despair, he had accepted an invitation to 
 a little social affair in her palatial residence, and then 
 told her of his intention to return to New York. And 
 now, here they were again, meeting almost immediately 
 after his arrival, for he had not been in Paris one week. 
 
 43
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Alverstone," said Trent, after they had lit their 
 cigarettes and started back upon their way to the Cafe 
 de la Paix, "that woman is a stirring creature. What 
 eyes ! Why, I feel their fire yet !" 
 
 "You are not the only person in the world into whom 
 that pair of eyes has sent its fire," Alverstone, laughing 
 lightly and pleasantly, made answer. 
 
 They walked down in silence, for both were smoking 
 and enjoying the delayed cigarette far better than it 
 were possible to enjoy conversation, even on woman, 
 in all her loveliness. Soon they reached the Cafe de 
 la Paix and took seats near the door. Alverstone or- 
 dered light wine, Lieutenant Trent dark. 
 
 "And so, my friend," said Trent, filling his glass the 
 second time, "you have been under fire of those fine 
 black eyes?" 
 
 "No, indeed, Lieutenant," quickly and testily came 
 the answer. "So far as I am concerned, the field is 
 yours. I am seldom drawn toward the dark-eyed beauty." 
 
 "Ah! there, my boy, drink a little of this red Bor- 
 deaux, and then tell me what you think. It will work 
 wonders. It makes a man reveal secrets, and for the 
 purpose of looking on the bright side of life your white 
 wine is too tame." 
 
 Alverstone laughed, but refused to take of the red 
 Bordeaux, saying: "Your dark wine can not change my 
 views. I am not made that way." 
 
 "Now, do explain yourself," said Trent ; "for my part, 
 I am drawn to the eyes of all colors, but I have a pref- 
 erence for the woman who looks at me with a pair of 
 orbs of dark, luminous depths. I like to look into them 
 and feel that I can not fathom the mystery they hide, for 
 to me they are never readable. You look approval of 
 my taste. May I presume that I have made a convert? 
 Do you not prefer fair woman's smile, when lit by the 
 
 44
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 radiant eye of dark, velvety softness? Speak, Alver- 
 stone." 
 
 This he asked and said, with his imagination decid- 
 edly quickened by his glasses of dark wine, which he 
 also preferred for its dark, subtle force, to the wine of 
 pale hue, and of more delicate imagination. 
 
 "No, no, my friend; my preference remains un- 
 changed ; I give it to the " 
 
 "There! there!" suddenly ejaculated Trent, signifying 
 by a glance in the direction of the door ; "see that splen- 
 did woman going yonder with that man ? She is the ex- 
 act type of dark beauty I admire most, for I have a pref- 
 erence even among them'" 
 
 "Oh," said Alverstone, after contenting himself with 
 looking at the woman, "she would be likely to please 
 most any one ; yes, she is fine looking." 
 
 "You see," said Trent, who had noticed a very much 
 satisfied elevation of Alverstone's eyebrows, "your eyes 
 are filled only with visions of the large black eye the 
 Oriental, so to speak. Now, this woman is a pronounced 
 type of the woman from the center of France Touraine 
 and if your face does not betray you, I know she has 
 called forth your admiration. Am I right or wrong?" 
 
 "You are right. She is a very handsome woman." 
 
 And this was true, for she was most fastidiously 
 stylish in dress, in person and in carriage of body ; medi- 
 um height, slight, quick of movement, and in manner and 
 speech very vivacious, almost to a point of nervousness. 
 
 The couple seated themselves not far off, and Trent 
 and Alverstone had a good view of the woman, who sat 
 with her face toward them. 
 
 At the table a man of dignified and studious demeanor 
 was sitting when they had entered, and he joined them 
 in a lively chat as though they were friends. 
 
 Soon, from broken threads of conversation, it was 
 
 45
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 seen that the woman was the wife of the dignified per- 
 sonage. 
 
 "That type is quite different from the type we just 
 left," said Alverstone. 
 
 "Oh, yes, Madame Nitolsk!" exclaimed Trent. ''In- 
 deed, yes ; but Madame Nitolsk is of the dark type I call 
 ravaging beauties you understand, Alverstone." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I suppose I do," said Alverstone, wearily. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I know you do," added Trent; "and more, 
 I suspect my good friend, Hampton Alverstone, late of 
 India, now of Grand-Hotel, Paris, deeply in love with 
 this dark-eyed widow." 
 
 "Your dark wine is growing dangerous, I fear," re- 
 plied Alverstone, good-humoredly. "At least," he con- 
 tinued, "I know that your imaginations upon that score 
 are entirely at fault." 
 
 "Well, then, Alverstone, you do not aver that you are 
 wholly insensible to her charms ?" 
 
 "Yes, I do; I experience not the least spark of emo- 
 tional influence from her." 
 
 This reply Alverstone made with asperity and with 
 not a tittle irritation perceptible in tone and manner, 
 and with a decidedly annoyed toss of the head on one 
 side. 
 
 "Well, well," said Trent; "this is great, I must con- 
 fess. I saw she was not a little nettled at having to speak 
 with me, to the exclusion of her dear friend, Mr. Alver- 
 stone, even though the subject matter of the talk with 
 me was the virtues of her late husband. I thought I 
 thought well, I thought" He paused and looked 
 steadily at Alverstone, in a teasing manner, in hopes of 
 irritating him into some kind of confession regarding 
 the exact relations existing between him and Madame 
 Nitolsk. 
 
 "You really thought what?" asked Alverstone. 
 
 46
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 But Trent only smiled as before ; smiled and gazed in 
 so tantalizing a manner that Alverstone for the moment 
 forgot himself and lost his head. 
 
 "There is nothing at all of interest between us. It 
 is she who has always made advances to me, not me to 
 her. I really feel burdened with her notice. She is so 
 trying, if she wishes to importune one." 
 
 Alverstone, having delivered himself thus, attacked 
 his opponent with a question pertaining to the blonde type 
 of woman "An Englishman like you should prefer the 
 fair" 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" again laughed Trent. "I see your 
 white wine has been as effective to stir you to visions 
 of loveliness in the fair as my dark wine has stirred me 
 to a sense of loveliness in the dark of womankind. Now 
 this is an argument for the temperance lecturer light 
 wine inclines the mind to the more celestial affairs pic- 
 tures of loveliness, with that light in the eye such as lim- 
 ners always give to the saints ; while the dark wine makes 
 man long for the things that pertain to things terrestrial. 
 In other words, makes man wander amid the dark beau- 
 ties, in his earthly paradise. Now, Alverstone, I mean 
 to be steady for a time." And he went on gently and 
 confidentially. "I saw that you were much pleased with 
 Miss Pembroke from the moment you met her ; indeed, 
 you acted like old friends, both of you, and she seemed 
 equally pleased with you. Pshaw, Alverstone, don't look 
 so forbidding. I know you took an interest in each other 
 just as soon as you met. If I did not know better, I 
 should say you were friends before this evening." 
 
 "You are a good fellow, Lieutenant, to take so much 
 kindly interest in me; but I offer no objection, for I do 
 like Miss Pembroke first, because she is an American, 
 and, second, because sEe is an American after the high- 
 est standard of American cultivation." 
 
 47
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "I thought as much," responded Trent. "Your opin- 
 ion of woman, no doubt, has suffered a change for the 
 better, however since meeting Miss Pembroke, a few 
 hours ago." 
 
 "No, I think not, Lieutenant, for I have always felt, 
 and still feel, that woman should be a companion piece, 
 and, as I am so constituted as to desire no such acquisi- 
 tion, I am not much influenced by woman, further than 
 the interest I take in a social way; in other words, I 
 have never felt the least inclined toward the position of 
 master of a home, consequently I have no use for a mis- 
 tress of a home." 
 
 "Well, my boy, you are in for more than a passing 
 social interest in the woman we met to-night," rejoined 
 Trent, again laughing teasingly. For, being a tease by 
 nature, he had indulged so fully in this unbecoming qual- 
 ity that he was known among his army friends as such, 
 when he was not worse a torment. 
 
 "Which one?" excitedly interrogated Alverstone, the 
 hot blood mounting to his face. 
 
 "Which one! Oh, pshaw, you know!" answered 
 Trent. 
 
 "Madame Nitolsk?" again demanded Alverstone, 
 sternly. 
 
 He would not trust his quick, bounding pulse with 
 the name Miss Pembroke. 
 
 "Oh, no, not that ravaging charmer. You could nev- 
 er love her," and, lowering his voice, "neither could any 
 other man love her. She is not capable of inspiring love 
 she inspires only passion." 
 
 "Thank you, Lieutenant your hand on that point 
 we fully agree." 
 
 And Alverstone put his hand over the table to Trent, 
 who grasped it firmly. 
 
 Perhaps who knows? these men had never made 
 
 48
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 this mutual confession without the aid of the cup that 
 cheers and can inebriate ; but wine makes havoc with the 
 secrets of all those who imbibe at the garrulous fountain. 
 
 While yet holding the hand of Alverstone, Trent 
 said: "You fell in love with Miss Pembroke as soon as 
 you met her in our box. I do not ask a confession but 
 you did." 
 
 Alverstone withdrew his hand, and, smiling, said: 
 "You are frank, and I like you for it. Now, then, one 
 question more, and I trust, my friend, you will show me 
 this same frankness of spirit in dealing with it. Do you 
 not find more than an ordinary passing interest in this 
 same young woman, to whom you introduced me?" 
 
 This question he put for the simple reason that he 
 was anxious to know the exact regard in which Trent 
 held Julia Pembroke. In other words, he wished to know 
 if the praise of Miss Pembroke, as spoken by Lady Trent 
 to her son, had aroused within him an especial interest in 
 the young woman. 
 
 Trent was a far-seeing man at times, and quickly 
 divined his friend's position, and as quickly answered: 
 "I saw that you saw, that you came and that you con- 
 quered. I pronounce it a genuine case of 'love at first 
 sight,' and, what is better yet, Alverstone, I should say 
 it is love reciprocated. You can smile, my friend," Trent 
 went on, hurriedly ; "I am correct in this bit of prophecy ; 
 but you may not be able to carry off the prize, for that is 
 another matter ; she is ambitious, and an ambitious wom- 
 an is not easily won, if won at all, when love would inter- 
 fere with the object of her ambitious desires. However 
 this results, I wish you a long and prosperous life." 
 
 And raising his glass, he proposed to drink to the 
 future happiness of Alverstone, whether married or un- 
 married. They drank and then went out of the Cafe 
 de la Paix in a gay mood, for each had learned that 
 
 49
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 which was as he would have ordered it, had it been some- 
 thing he might have ordered. 
 
 Trent had feared that Madame Nitolsk had a reason 
 for the preference she had shown for Alverstone. Now 
 he had had from the lips of Alverstone, whom he trusted, 
 a positive denial of any existing condition of affection 
 between himself and Madame Nitolsk. And Alverstone 
 knew that Trent had no matrimonial designs upon Miss 
 Pembroke; so two happy young men lit their cigarettes 
 and were soon mingled with the mass then crowding 
 along the sidewalk in front of the Grand Hotel, on Boule- 
 vard des Capucines. 
 
 They kept along the boulevard, now and then saying 
 a word, but the large Olympia Music Hall just then dis- 
 missing, the crowded boulevard became densely packed 
 with the throng, hurrying along, each person or party 
 in haste to get to the preferred place for the usual theater 
 supper or other refreshment. 
 
 "Let us slip off this boulevard," said Alverstone. "I 
 came out with you for a breath of air, but this crowd 
 makes me feel dizzy, and then my head is hot." 
 
 "That should be the condition of your heart Instead ; 
 it should be exceedingly warm, after your successful en- 
 counter this evening," said Trent, jocularly, and, taking 
 a firm grasp of the arm of Alverstone, they turned the 
 next corner and found themselves on the Rue Cambon. 
 
 "Here, said Trent, "take a fresh cigarette," and he 
 offered Alverstone one from his case. 
 
 They lit and smoked and walked on in silence for a 
 short time, evidently enjoying the freedom of the quiet 
 street after the hot air of the crowded boulevard. 
 
 Just then they were at peace with the world, so far 
 as their senses were concerned, for under the influence 
 of the sparkling wine and the quieting cigarette they were 
 in love with the world in general. It would have been 
 
 50
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 impossible to have gotten from them a word other than 
 that there could be no better place than old mother earth, 
 and no happier persons than Lieutenant Trent and 
 Hampton Alverstone. 
 
 The true effect of an evening's indulgence in drink- 
 ing and in smoking is without limitations, and this effect 
 is best told some few or many years after. 
 
 "What's that?" cried Alverstone, as a sound of glass, 
 like the breaking of a window, fell upon the stillness of 
 the street. 
 
 "Don't know," said Trent; "but what is that? A cab 
 yonder?" And he went out to the edge of the side- 
 walk to see better. Alverstone followed. 
 
 "Yes, it is a cab," and the soldier dashed ahead, to 
 see what was wrong, and Alverstone came behind. 
 
 A man standing near the cab, evidently seeing the 
 approach of persons, betook himself in the greatest of 
 haste, and was soon at a safe distance, even if pursued. 
 
 "What's the matter here?" demanded Trent, in sten- 
 torian tones, as he came up. 
 
 The cab door was open. A man was inside, but was 
 lying limp against the farther corner of the cab, as if 
 he had drawn to that side in a retreat from his assailant. 
 
 "Apache! Apache!" came in bated breath from the 
 almost paralyzed driver. 
 
 Every one who knows Paris knows the danger of an 
 attack by the Apaches. No driver attempts to save his 
 patron from these ruffians, for the bands of Apaches 
 that infest the city of Paris would remember him if he 
 made the least attempt to do so. It was evident that 
 this Apache had struck at the man with his cane, and in 
 so doing had broken the glass, and, in a struggle to ob- 
 tain his little purse, which now lay on the floor of the cab, 
 with the coins scattered about, he had cut the man's 
 wrist. 
 
 51
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Cocher, drive to the nearest pharmacy," said Trent. 
 
 At the pharmacy the man was soon revived, and his 
 wounds, which were slight, were dressed by an attending 
 surgeon, who was called ; then he ,was helped into a cab, 
 with promises from Trent of a visit from him on the 
 morrow rather some time to-day, as he lightly put it, 
 it was then two in the morning. "Good-night, Alver- 
 stone," he added; "I'll see you, too, later in the day." 
 
 And he waved them good night, as the carriage 
 turned to go back toward the Boulevard des Capucines. 
 
 The two men who had come to the rescue of the at- 
 tacked man had walked out Rue Cambon for fresh air, 
 and they had it. But they had not free air, because 
 some one had gone farther off along a forbidden way 
 than had others, thus arriving at the stage of degeneracy 
 which produced the Apache these children of darkness, 
 though made in the image of God made to bless God's 
 earth, and not to curse it, who, if trained aright, might 
 bring about the prophesied millennium, for characters 
 forceful as are those of the uncontrollable Apaches of 
 Paris would throw the balance of power with ennobling 
 influences of the civilized world. But only in the nur- 
 series of these poor wretched creatures is it worth the 
 while to work. Beyond that fruitful spot hope of reform 
 is dead. 
 
 Alverstone assisted the wounded man into his apart- 
 ment, then bade him good night, with the promise of a 
 visit soon. 
 
 As Alverstone emerged from the building in which 
 the wounded man had his apartment, he said: "To the 
 Grand-Hotel des Capucines, cocher," and reentered the 
 cab. 
 
 Soon he was in his rooms at the Grand Hotel, with 
 nerves enough wearied to allow of some sleep, if not of 
 much sleep. 
 
 52
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "Good morning, mother," said Trent, accompanying 
 the address with his customary salute, for he was very 
 respectful to his mother. 
 
 "Good morning, my son ; you are well, I see. I hope 
 you enjoyed the evening with your old friend, Mr. Alver- 
 stone." 
 
 "Thank you, mother dear ; we had a fine chat over our 
 glasses at the Cafe de la Paix; but" he looked down at 
 his hand, which he moved slowly across the back (of a 
 heavily carved chair, stopping at the deep grooves and 
 pressing the end of the forefinger into them and then 
 drawing it out again, and moving it on to the next it 
 was the trick of a small boy, but Trent, though seven- 
 and-twenty, did as all men do at critical moments he 
 acted simply, and simplicity is the acting-theme of child- 
 hood. 
 
 Lady Trent noticed the hesitation, and paused in her 
 writing, but she did not look up. "Well, what is it, 
 Reginald?" 
 
 Her tone was half unconcerned, as she continued 
 writing, but there was an anxiety about the inflection. 
 Trent did not remark it, and again said: "Well, mother, 
 I had the good fortune to meet a friend from India soon 
 after you left us, at the Opera." 
 
 "Indeed ! That was nice, and who was the friend, 
 may I ask?" This Lady Trent put quite calmly, and 
 without looking up from the letter, which she was fold- 
 ing. 
 
 "Yes, mother, it was a Madame Nitolsk, the wife of 
 the financier Nitolsk, the man of whom I wrote you the 
 banker who saved my life in that Sepoy mutiny." 
 
 53
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Ah, thought Lady Trent, perhaps it is good fortune, 
 perhaps it is not ; but she gave the thought no voice, for 
 she was too wise to arm an adversary with giving ex- 
 pression to an indiscreet remark. She only smiled and 
 said: "I am always glad, my son, to know that you are 
 among friends." 
 
 "They were among the best of the social world of 
 Calcutta, mother, and I hope you will extend to her the 
 hospitality you are so capable of extending to your 
 friends." 
 
 "Well, my son, I shall see." 
 
 "Mother, I should like to have her present on the oc- 
 casion of this evening, in our home here your reception 
 in my honor." 
 
 "This evening!" exclaimed Lady Trent, turning 
 around and looking at her son in great amazement. 
 "Why, my son, it is too late ! It would not be good form, 
 to say the least and, besides, the lady might be offended 
 at such haste on my part." 
 
 "I'll manage that, mother," said Trent, hurriedly. He 
 wished to convince his mother, for he knew how immuta- 
 ble her final decision would be. 
 
 Lady Trent was a very conservative woman, as re- 
 garded the choice of friends. The Lord and Lady Trent 
 had never known a scandal in their home. They were a 
 most exemplary family, and this, too, in the midst of a 
 large following of the usual languorous social lights 
 which grace the halls of rich and poor, high and low, re- 
 ligious and irreligious alike. 
 
 Lieutenant Trent was very handsome, as he stood 
 there before his mother, with one hand resting on the 
 basket of his sword, while the other hung from the wrist 
 just over one end of the rather high-backed chair. He 
 was tall, but the broad shoulders, together with the 
 
 54
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 strong build of the body, did not make him look his 
 height. His waist was very long and made him every 
 inch a soldier. His hands were broad and well-knit; the 
 fingers, of medium length, seemed short, because the 
 hand was wide where they joined it at the palm. His 
 fingernails had a bizarre way of looking frank, as some 
 nails do, and so did the thumb, which stood straight out 
 from the well-set hand. 
 
 Many women who had loved him had declared, in 
 adoration, or maybe in flattery, that the turn of the 
 thumb had been formed by the frequent use of the heavy 
 sword. But he only laughed at their harmless laudation, 
 and had shown them his left thumb, which was a Dro- 
 mio of the right, as should be, but withal, the hand was 
 a noble hand a good outward mark of a lieutenant in 
 the British army, who had gained his rank by active 
 service. 
 
 The face was somewhat oval, though no one would 
 have said it, for it seemed nearer the square. His lower 
 jaw was thrust out a trifle, but it was not a natural 
 set ; more likely the life of the soldier had formed it, for 
 the wide mouth had very narrow lips, and the lower lip 
 had a way of protruding beyond the upper, when he was 
 thoughtful, which was not very often, for, like many great 
 generals, he rarely meditated. He acted on the moment. 
 The corners of the mouth hung down, but this was also 
 formed, and not natural. 
 
 The soft chestnut hair was aristocratic, from the left, 
 where it parted and fell across to the other side of the 
 head, to the round, neat turn, just behind the ear. It was 
 thick hair, though very fine, and the way it turned back 
 just at the right temple gave a decision to the high, prom- 
 inent forehead and a keenness to the eyes which should 
 have looked gentle, for they were cerulean. They were 
 not small eyes, but they appeared small, for the bone of 
 
 55
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the cheek was high, as it nearly always is in the faces 
 of great martial heroes. The eyebrows were straight, 
 and marked no especial characteristic. 
 
 The nose was high, straight and very regular. The 
 skin was healthy, though it was very brown, and just a 
 tinge of color showed through the burned brown of the 
 cheek. 
 
 He had an easy carriage, though he held himself very 
 erect. He looked like an Englishman, but he did not 
 walk like one. This was Sir Reginald Trent. There 
 were times when he became "the soldier," and then he 
 was debonair, careless, and there was an elasticity about 
 his step, and his eyes had a fierce light in them. The 
 jaw would thrust itself farther forward, and the spot 
 where the hair turned backward at the right temple 
 would seem higher and more prominent. 
 
 He was a noble lord. He was a daring fighter. He 
 was a gay companion. He had a strong mind, but he had 
 not such a mind as to be entirely deaf to the persuasive 
 lull of a fair woman's voice. He was well worth a moth- 
 er's anxiety. 
 
 Lady Trent looked at him long and earnestly, but the 
 frank, fearless eye and the honest poise of the body were 
 unaccusing signs, and Lady Trent's gaze became tender, 
 for she knew; it was not an unpardonable fault, it was 
 only one of the indiscretions of youth. 
 
 "My son," said Lady Trent, in a voice filled with ten- 
 derness, "if this were a gathering of a cosmopolitan na- 
 ture, it would be all very well, and I should offer no ob- 
 jections, but as it is a very <select party of very congenial 
 persons, I do not see the way clear to introduce a 
 stranger, of whose character I know nothing, except that 
 she was the wife of a rich man in India, and that she 
 moved in social circles there. It may seem severe to my 
 soldier boy, but he should remember that there must be 
 
 56
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 some recommendation of real merit before the mother of 
 Lieutenant Reginald Trent can conscientiously introduce 
 strangers to her friends, who will gather this evening to 
 do honor by their presence, thus acknowledging their 
 confidence in the discretionary powers of the hostess." 
 
 "Yes, mother, I see; perhaps I have grown careless 
 in such matters, but I do wish she might come." 
 
 His voice showed the disappointment, and for a time 
 neither mother nor son tried to speak. 
 
 Trent had seated himself in an easy-chair, and was 
 quiet, except for a slight motion of his right foot, which 
 hung from a footrest, over which he had thrown it. 
 His head had dropped slightly forward, and he thought- 
 fully watched the movement of his foot. 
 
 Lady Trent, who was seemingly busy with the ar- 
 rangement of the letters she had just finished writing, 
 let her eyes find her son and rest upon him without his 
 knowledge of the same. She wished to read, if possible, 
 whether her son was very fond of this woman, on whom 
 he wished to confer this favor, or if it was simply out 
 of gratitude. 
 
 Her heart smote her as she read, for she was certain 
 that gratitude was not the motive for the act, and Lady 
 Trent had always cherished a desire that from among 
 the fair daughters of English ancestry Reginald, her boy, 
 would choose his bride. 
 
 "How long has she been a widow?" nonchalantly 
 asked Lady Trent. "Perhaps she would not be able to' 
 accept for this reason, if for no other." 
 
 Secretly she hoped it would prove the necessary bar- 
 rier, for she knew that her son was over-rash in his 
 warmth of gratitude, to say the least ; for to Lady Trent 
 there were numerous other ways to show gratitude than 
 by doing what might prove at least an indiscretion, if not 
 an offense, to the good taste of her invited guests. 
 
 57
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "She has been a widow some fourteen months, and 
 her physician advised travel and change for her health. 
 
 "Did she tell you this?" again asked Lady Trent, in 
 the same careless manner. 
 
 "Yes, she told Alverstone and me this last evening. 
 We walked home with her from the Opera. She lives 
 in a magnificent place, on Rue Caumartin." 
 
 Lady Trent was almost breathless with astonishment 
 that her son should ask her to invite to an exclusive 
 gathering of some several hundred guests a woman to 
 whom he had been introduced at the Opera door, and 
 then he had been permitted by her to accompany her 
 home. She only said: 
 
 "Reginald, I really do not see my way clear to do 
 this. If it were as I said before, a cosmopolitan affair, 
 even an official affair, I might consider it ; but I can not 
 conscientiously do it on this occasion." 
 
 "Very well, mother; but I assure you that the pain 
 your refusal gives me is great. Why, mother, that 
 woman is the widow of the man who, a few years ago, 
 saved me from death by horrible torture. Were it not 
 for her late husband I would not now be here to ask of 
 you this token of gratitude. I wish to be a dutiful son, 
 but to the late Banker Nitolsk, whose name this woman 
 bears, I owe my life, which you, my dear mother, could 
 not at that hour have saved, even with the aid of all the 
 assembled exclusiveness of this evening. But" 
 
 He paused abruptly, arose and paced rapidly around 
 the room, yet with no show of anger, for he was a gen- 
 tleman in the presence of his mother she could not re- 
 member a time when her Reginald forgot himself to her. 
 
 "Mother," he resumed, I "think Madame Nitolsk a 
 perfect lady in manners, and one perfectly acquainted 
 with all form required in the most exclusive of social 
 
 58
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 gatherings ; and, further, I am sure she will never cause 
 you regret that you have invited her." 
 
 Lady Trent knew her son cared much for the woman, 
 who had made his acquaintance only last evening no, 
 last midnight, she thought, with bitterness and had had 
 him within her power for only a short time, yet at this 
 moment had him so much within her power that he was 
 insisting upon his mother committing an offense per- 
 haps an unpardonable offense against the hundreds of 
 persons whom she was to receive as guests on that eve- 
 ning. 
 
 She decided that she would know for herself. 
 
 Turning to her son, she said : "Reginald, I trust you. 
 You know what it means to invite an unknown person 
 into our set. Now I give you permission to carry out 
 your desire, and I trust we shall not be disappointed in 
 the woman." 
 
 She handed him an invitation, which he took, saying 
 that he would see she got it. 
 
 "But remember, my son," Lady Trent went on, "that 
 this Madame Nitolsk is to enjoy the hospitality of your 
 mother, and remember, too, my brave boy, that your 
 mother would rather die than bid to her home a woman 
 whose character would not bear the searchlight of virtue 
 and of honor. I know you, my darling child, but I do not 
 know whether I can trust your judgment in this matter." 
 
 "Mother, I thank you, and I feel sure you will have 
 no cause for regrets." 
 
 He took the invitation,, but he did not look at it. He 
 caught his mother's hand and pressed it to 'his lips. Then 
 he straightened himself and a smile lit up the strong-set 
 face, as his eyes met those of his mother, for she was 
 smiling tenderly upon him. Then he turned and left the 
 room. 
 
 59
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Lady Trent looked after her son, and a feeling of 
 tenderest pride mingled itself with compassion. He 
 looked so handsome and so brave in his beautiful uni- 
 form, with the insignia of his rank "God bless you and 
 keep you, my son." 
 
 She listened to his footsteps as they grew fainter and 
 fainter down the long corridor, and the mother's ear 
 caught the small metallic click of the sword, which 
 touched the mosaic pavement every now and then. The 
 smile had left her face and an anxious look was in her 
 eyes. 
 
 Though her son resembled her in some features, no 
 one would have judged their relation by physiognomy 
 alone. 
 
 Her hair was a light brown, softly parted and done 
 high on the head. The complexion was clear, as it gen- 
 erally is with English women, and the healthy pink of the 
 cheek and the crystal blue of the eye made her appear 
 much younger than she really was. The features were of 
 a refined, classic type, and were in perfect harmony with 
 the noble lines of the chin and throat. Her face showed 
 decision and sincerity of purpose, though kind and al- 
 ways open to reason. She was large, but not stout, and 
 she carried herself with a regal bearing. She possessed 
 that noble beauty which can not fail to make a goddess 
 of woman, especially if she has passed the years of forty, 
 and Lady Trent was just nine-and-forty. Some half-hour 
 after Lieutenant Trent had gone out from his mother's 
 sitting room she was entering her electric landau. 
 
 "Go directly to Revillon, Rue de Rivoli," said Lady 
 Trent to the footman, who stood awaiting her orders. 
 
 She was having a large sealskin coat made there, and 
 remained at this furrier's long enough to allow the fitter 
 to examine the fit of the completed garment, something 
 she always did before permitting the sending home. 
 
 60
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 On returning to her automobile she gave orders for 
 her usual morning drive, which, when in Paris, she al- 
 ways took in the Bois. 
 
 On the return trip, while yet in the Bois, as the auto- 
 mobile sped off the Alice de la Reine Marguerite, on the 
 beautiful Route de Suresnes, a couple of riders came into 
 view. 
 
 The horses were walking and evidently the riders were 
 thoroughly enjoying the interesting chat, in which the 
 woman was displaying her abilities in that line, for her 
 vivacity of manner was very apparent at even a distance. 
 Her companion was in the attitude of an adoring listener. 
 Quick as a flash to Lady Trent was made known the fact 
 that her son, Reginald Trent, was enslaved by the woman 
 with whom at that moment he rode and held converse. 
 
 The chauffeur and footman, recognizing the son of 
 Lady Trent, ran along quietly and slowly, expecting an 
 order to stop. 
 
 Lieutenant Trent, who had turned his head at sound 
 of the approaching car, turned in his saddle to signal the 
 chauffeur to stop. 
 
 He dismounted, and, saluting his mother, for whom 
 the footman was holding open the door, said: "Mother, 
 you will allow me the honor to present to you my friend, 
 Madame Nitolsk." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk, whose horse had remained standing 
 near by, now turned her horse's head and came close. 
 
 Lady Trent bowed kindly and gave no indication other 
 than that she was much pleased with the woman. But 
 in reality she felt it her duty to warn her son at the 
 earliest opportunity to avoid as much as possible this 
 strange woman this woman who belonged not to the or- 
 der of women found in the home of Lady Trent. 
 
 61
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Lady Trent rarely made mistakes in her judgments, 
 according to first impressions of persons who were pre- 
 sented for her approval. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk, though seated in her beautiful sad- 
 dle, upon an extraordinarily spirited horse, made a most 
 beautiful picture, as with reins in left hand and dainty 
 little riding whip in left, she bowed very low to Lady 
 Trent. 
 
 To the son she was most dangerously fascinating; to 
 the mother she was a picture of the most fascinating 
 treachery that she could remember to have yet encoun- 
 tered. She felt no slight compunction of conscience at 
 the thought of this woman mingling with her guests of 
 the evening guests, every one of whom trusted in the 
 wholesome English woman's unbiased judgment so fully 
 that to meet one in her salons was understood to meet a 
 morally good woman . 
 
 Lady Trent knew the position she held in the esteem 
 of her friends, but she had given her son permission to 
 invite this Madame Nitolsk, and she would abide by that 
 decision. 
 
 The landau carrying the guardian angel of Lieuten- 
 ant Trent passed out of sight. 
 
 The two riders continued on their way. 
 
 "You do not resemble your mother/' remarked Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk." 
 
 "No, I am favored with the face, form and manners 
 of my maternal grandfather." 
 
 "You are something like your mother, I see." 
 
 "How so?" he asked. 
 
 "Ah, she is a brave woman, and her son is a daring 
 soldier. I always admire that brave nobility in woman ; 
 but in man ah !" 
 
 The "ah" was said with a bewitching shrug of the 
 shoulders and a smile played around her mouth. She 
 
 62
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 looked down, and the sweet, low voice was deeper, 
 sweeter, keener it went to the point. 
 
 Trent understood all it implied, but he wanted to hear 
 her say it. 
 
 "You dislike daring in men?" he interrogated. 
 
 As she turned quickly upon him, her large, luminous 
 eyes lit by the intensity of her passion, she exclaimed, 
 "I adore it in men." 
 
 They left the Suresnes and were now nearing the 
 gate. 
 
 "I am afraid," said he, with a thoughtful shake of the 
 head, "I am afraid you would not like the life of a brave 
 man as much as you admire it." 
 
 She made no answer, for she was revolving within 
 that subtle mind, so capacious in matters of a designing 
 nature, just how she might best convince Alverstone that 
 Lieutenant Trent and the young American singer were 
 betrothed, for she told herself that this young woman 
 was more than likely the cause of the coldness which 
 Alverstone had shown her on last evening after the 
 opera. She understood that he was totally indifferent to 
 her, and, further, that he was glad Lieutenant Trent and 
 she had been so busy with themselves. Yes, and she 
 had seen, too, that he had been the one to tuck in the 
 wraps of this same American beauty before the landau 
 had left the Opera. 
 
 At her earliest opportunity she would make Alver- 
 stone afraid to notice this young woman. 
 
 Trent adored Madame Nitolsk, for he thought she 
 was lost in a delicious revery of himself, while in reality 
 she cared nothing more for Trent than she did for any 
 servant of any color who might serve her in gaining a 
 desired object. 
 
 Her head turned a little, though she did not look at 
 him. There was an ugly light in her eyes, for ugly 
 
 63
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 thoughts of Julia Pembroke flit through her mind; 
 but Trent did not see this, for he was looking at her 
 lithe, graceful form. 
 
 "You do not know me," she said, and she bent gently 
 toward him, as if the whispered words might be audible 
 to a passer-by. Something tinkled on the hard ground. 
 Trent, so deeply absorbed in the mysteries of that subtle 
 something emanating from the personality of that most 
 subtle of women, heard nothing. 
 
 - "What was that?" she asked. "It sounded like gold- 
 like a ten-franc piece," she added, in tones of great won- 
 derment. 
 
 "What is what?" asked Trent, in answer. "I heard 
 nothing," he went on, slowly emerging from a peculiar 
 abstraction. 
 
 Instantly Madame Nitolsk turned her horse, and, 
 pointing toward a spot with her dainty little whip, said: 
 "Ah, there ! see ! it is mine a trinket. I dropped it." 
 
 Quickly dismounting, Trent picked up the tiny orna- 
 ment a dainty little lyre of gold, set with three tiny 
 diamonds. He examined it, saying: "Very unique, in- 
 deed, my dear Madame." 
 
 "It pleases you, does it?" she asked. "Keep it, in 
 remembrance of me," and she pushed back the hand 
 which offered it. 
 
 "Oh! Madame! Madame!" 
 
 She stopped him by asking: "You like me a little?" 
 
 The question was begging, but the tone was tri- 
 umphant. Trent, who, on approaching Madame Nitolsk 
 to restore the lost ornament, had thrust his arm through 
 the rein of his horse, had both hands free. He seized 
 the little hand in both of his and fiercely clasped it in 
 his own, then pressed it to his lips passionately, saying: 
 "I love you, I love you, Madame Nitolsk." 
 
 64
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 She smiled down upon him, then almost closed her 
 eyes, as if she wished to stamp upon her memory a pleas- 
 ing conquest, a cunning stroke. She made no answer, 
 but her dark skin changed color it became a deep red. 
 
 The sound of an approaching carriage was heard. 
 Trent mounted his horse and they rode away under the 
 gates, on out of the Bois, and cantered off along the 
 Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, the admired of all who 
 saw them, for to see them was to notice, then admire; 
 and many were the heads turned to admire the 
 handsome English officer and his beautiful companion, 
 who, in her soft, dark green velvet habit, with its trim- 
 mings of gold lace all of the latest mode was a strik- 
 ing beauty. 
 
 Her wicked character was as perfectly concealed 
 beneath the rich velvets as are the claws of a cat under 
 the soft velvet paw. 
 
 "You will not forget to come this evening?" said 
 Trent, as he was about to leave her. 
 
 "Thank you ; I assure you I shall not forget," she 
 made answer. Then she rode in under the big doors of 
 her mansion, and they closed immediately. 
 
 Trent went off, putting his horse to a brisk gallop. 
 As he came out of a side street, intending to cross 
 Champs Elysees, on his way to Rue Marbeuf, he drew 
 rein, for the crowded avenue was not then passable. 
 Just as the police were making a halt in the line cours- 
 ing up Champs Elysees and his horse had started for- 
 ward, he saw Julia passing on the sidewalk behind him. 
 She saw him and bowed. He returned the compliment 
 with his most gracious salute. Many turned to see who 
 was so highly favored. 
 
 Though Trent's mind was filled with images of 
 Madame Nitolsk images of the various poses taken by 
 her during the saunter in the Bois he was not insen- 
 
 65
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 sible to the charms of the fresh young American girl, 
 who at that moment had given him as fresh and as 
 morally healthy a smile as had been the bow and smile 
 of Madame Nitolsk morally unhealthy and degrading. 
 
 He thought: "How different from Madame Nitolsk 
 is the beautiful American! Each has a charm for me, 
 but" Here his thought was crushed with the emotion 
 which thought of Madame Nitolsk, in her sinuous seduc- 
 tiveness,, aroused. 
 
 Trent should have seen that Julia Pembroke was 
 capable of no deceit that she would plan no evil deed ; 
 while he should also have seen that Madame Nitolsk had 
 made him as the rabbit when the prey of a boa con- 
 strictor stupefied. And had she chosen to do so, she 
 would have carried to a finish the serpentine propensity. 
 
 When Trent had put out his hand to give Madame 
 Nitolsk the lyre she sat upon her magnificent horse, 
 with every coil of the boa perfectly visible in her every 
 motion and in every glance of her glittering eyes. 
 
 Will Trent be wise? Only his blood can decide. 
 What of his blood? That is, as it has been tended and 
 nurtured for a generation, or for generations the longer 
 the rose is cultivated the farther it goes from the wild 
 nature in which it was first found. Just so with the 
 blood of a person or a family. 
 
 Though Trent might be captivated for the moment, 
 his was a fine lineage, and he was less likely to fall into 
 the snare set by the "strange woman" than he would 
 have been had the mothers of their long line of splendid 
 English ancestors been less wisely chosen. It was with 
 pardonable pride that the Trents kept a special gallery, 
 in which were hung the portraits of the ancestors, upon 
 either side of a corridor, through which one might walk 
 and look upon women who never thought an evil deed, 
 much less planned or committed one. 
 
 66
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 As Trent was about to turn into the stables he saw 
 Alverstone coming in his direction. He stopped and 
 waited until he came up. 
 
 "Hello, Alverstone ! Find any more Apaches ?" 
 
 "No, no more Apaches ; but I am on my way to 
 visit our Apache victim of last night." 
 
 "How thoughtful you are," replied Trent. "Give him 
 my best wishes for a speedy recovery." 
 
 "I shall do so. You don't look like the Apaches had 
 troubled you this morning." 
 
 "No, indeed," Trent made answer, with great empha- 
 sis. "I have been out riding some two hours or more." 
 
 "You have a fine color and a clear eye. The air 
 must be more than invigorating where you rode. Think 
 I'll take a turn there to-morrow, if you will disclose this 
 'Fountain of Youth/" 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed Trent, well knowing the real 
 cause of his bright eye. "I was riding in the Bois, 
 mostly on Route de Suresnes," and then he laughed again. 
 
 Had Alverstone known the danger he would there 
 encounter, in the person of Madame Nitolsk, he would 
 shun that entire quarter of the Bois and enjoy his morn- 
 ing canter in another part of the great park ; for Alver- 
 stone cared nothing at all for women of Madame 
 Nitolsk's order women incapacitated to entertain the 
 masculine sex, except by means most seductive seduc- 
 tive in varying degrees of seductiveness, according as the 
 victim is easy or difficult 'of destruction. 
 
 "Don't forget the reception this evening, Alverstone. 
 Miss Pembroke will be there," said Trent, as Alverstone 
 started to go on his way, but he got no reply, for Alver- 
 stone did not turn around. 
 
 67
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 As Alverstone walked on he felt not a little displeas- 
 ure at the familiar manner in which Trent had spoken 
 of Miss Pembroke, especially since he had known her 
 but two days. Alverstone was enough judge of human 
 nature to know that the indiscretion lay entirely with 
 Trent. He required no other recommendation of Julia 
 Pembroke's character than that given him at finding her 
 an accepted and respected guest of Lady Trent; for to 
 see Lady Trent was to know that she was not outbidden 
 in the price she required as entrance fee to her circle 
 of personal friends. 
 
 By this time Alverstone had crossed Champs Elysees, 
 and wisely concluded that Trent was a soldier, and had 
 fought well and bravely ; that it was narrow and unchar- 
 itable to wish a daring man to be at all times a delicate 
 one. 
 
 He took out a card to make sure of the name of the 
 street. He remembered the number distinctly. 
 
 Yes, it was Rue du General Foy. He walked on 
 quite rapidly now, for he had yet quite a distance to go. 
 
 He found an automatic lift at the entrance, but 
 Alverstone feared them, having had narrow escapes from 
 serious accidents in them on several occasions! He chose 
 to climb the steps. 
 
 While standing on the fourth landing to take a little 
 rest, he mused that this man must be poor to live so 
 high, for he had been directed to the fifth floor. 
 
 However, a liveried domestic answered his ring and 
 led him into a very elegantly furnished drawing-room, 
 in which Etienne Nevere, the injured man, was seated. 
 
 68
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 As the man bent forward to receive his visitor more 
 cordially Alverstone saw in his face an expression of 
 pain. Going quickly to his side, Alverstone said : "I beg 
 of you do not exert yourself. You are better, I see." 
 
 "Yes, I am, thank you. Be seated here, please, close 
 to me, where we can have a little talk," said Nevere, 
 laying his hand on an easy-chair near him. 
 
 Etienne Nevere was a man of some fifty-five years. 
 He was of medium height, neat in dress and general 
 appearance, strongly built, but refined withal. The short, 
 black beard was trimmed to a point. The hair was 
 black, thick and smoothly dressed. The skin was dark, 
 with a slight pallor. The eyes were small, keen, intelli- 
 gent, though not striking. He had an artist's odd way 
 of squinting the eyes, which made them seem smaller 
 than they really were. The nose was strong and promi- 
 nent and marked to a degree with the Parisian irregu- 
 larity. The hands were small, white and effeminately 
 molded. He had an easy air, combined with a certain 
 nervous alertness. 
 
 "Thank you," said Alverstone, accepting the prof- 
 fered seat. 
 
 "That Apache's stick might have ended my life," 
 began Nevere. "Had you not frightened him, I think 
 I should not now be alive. By the way, who was the 
 young man who assisted me out of the drug store ?" 
 
 "That," replied Alverstone, "was Lieutenant Trent, 
 an English officer, visiting Paris on his way from India 
 to London. He sends his best wishes for your speedy 
 recovery, and hopes to visit you to-morrow." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you ; that is very kind, very con- 
 siderate of you both. I was fortunate that you passed 
 my way at that hour truly fortunate." 
 
 And Nevere shuddered at the remembrance of the 
 attack. "These poor cabmen," continued Nevere, "afford 
 
 69
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 no protection against the deadly aim of these ruffians. 
 They are afraid to look at them, well knowing it may 
 cost life." 
 
 I have been quite fortunate in that respect," an- 
 swered Alverstone. He paused a moment. Nevere said 
 nothing, and Alverstone went on: 
 
 "Lieutenant Trent and I were on our way from the 
 Opera indirectly, however, as we had sipped our wine 
 at the Cafe de la Paix" 
 
 "Cafe de la Paix!" ejaculated Nevere. "I had left 
 there but a very short time before. Strikes me I recall 
 seeing you, at a table near by, where I sat with a friend 
 and his wife." 
 
 "Was that you who entered the cafe with that hand- 
 some brunette in the lemon velvet?" asked Alverstone, 
 in enquiring surprise. 
 
 "Yes, yes, that was I. She is the wife of the attorney 
 La Blanche, and that was he at the table when we 
 entered." 
 
 "I remember well," said Alverstone. 
 
 "A few minutes before you found me," continued 
 Nevere, "the victim of that Apache, I had left Attorney 
 La Blanche and Madame La Blanche at their door. We 
 often walk home from the Opera together. They are 
 extreme devotees of that art. By the way, Monsieur 
 Alverstone, are you fond of the opera?" he asked. 
 
 "Very, very fond, indeed, sir." 
 
 "Are you a musician, then?" 
 
 "No/ answered Alverstone; "not exactly that; not 
 to the extent of the performance. I am a great lover of 
 the art, when performed by others." 
 
 "Do you attend opera much?" 
 
 "Yes, whenever I am in a city where opera is given 
 I attend." 
 
 "Ah, you do not live in Paris ?" 
 
 70
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "No, this is not my home. I am an American New 
 York is my home. I am a sojourner a traveler any- 
 thing you will. I am seeing the world," replied Alver- 
 stone. 
 
 "Well ! well ! you an American ! I thought you were 
 a Frenchman !" 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Alverstone. "Now you compli- 
 ment me." 
 
 "But you speak French without an accent," objected 
 Nevere. "You must have spent much time in France 
 to do this." 
 
 "Yes, I have been in France a number of years. I 
 was brought here to study when I was twelve. Since 
 then I have crossed the Atlantic many times. Now I 
 have given you a sketch of my life, may I ask if I am 
 correct when I think you a Frenchman ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed; you are right there. I am a French- 
 man, a true Parisian born in Paris, lived in Paris and 
 will die in Paris. No place in the world for me like 
 Paris." After a moment's pause he concluded : "I am a 
 musician a flutist at the Opera." 
 
 "A flutist! a musician!" exclaimed Alverstone, in 
 evident surprise. 
 
 "Yes, I am ; nothing strange in that, is there ?" 
 
 "Yes, to me it is strange." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I had taken you to be an artist a painter a delin- 
 eator of character." 
 
 "You are the first stranger to read me an artist," 
 replied Nevere. "I generally pass for a musician. How 
 came you to judge me a painter?" 
 
 "I can only say," answered Alverstone, "that you 
 appear the artist-painter portrait painter." 
 
 "You must have some strength in that line yourself, 
 to be so excellent a judge," said Nevere. "If you have
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 time," he went on, "we will look in at one of my rooms." 
 
 Nevere opened the little door at the end of the 
 hall and pushed back the crimson curtains, "saying: 
 "This way, please." 
 
 Alverstone was totally unprepared for the sight which 
 met his view. He found himself standing in the midst 
 of a capacious and perfectly equipped atelier. The room 
 was two stories in height, and vaulted, and the entire 
 back was of glass. As the back faced the south and 
 looked out upon a large garden, a flood of warm sun- 
 shine illumined the room at all hours of the day. Across 
 this glass end were hung many rich curtains, each of a 
 different shade. 
 
 These curtains the artist adjusted to obtain the 
 desired light upon his model. Two beautiful divans 
 stood across opposite corners of the room. Cushions 
 and draperies were seen in the most extravagant pro- 
 fusion, and of such beauty and workmanship as would 
 give exquisite delight to the most exacting connoisseur 
 of that art. Against the wall, directly opposite the win- 
 dow, was a large, magnificent throne of crimson velvet 
 and gold. The canopy of the throne was hung with deep 
 gilt fringe, the effect ensemble being that one stood in 
 the presence of royalty. 
 
 All around the room stood easels, upon each of which 
 was placed a portrait unframed and in some stage of 
 development. 
 
 Since entering the studio Alverstone had stood dum- 
 founded. He had not moved a muscle. The artist spoke 
 and broke the spell. 
 
 "You are surprised at my little studio?" 
 
 "No, I am not surprised," replied Alverstone. "Sur- 
 prised is not the word I am amazed. You are a great 
 artist, I see." 
 
 Then he walked toward the portrait of a Cardinal 
 
 72
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 well known in Europe. The Cardinal was seated in a 
 large chair, and the artist having completed the work in 
 charcoal, had painted the head, the neck and a small 
 portion of one shoulder. 
 
 "You make his excellency the Cardinal do duty in 
 paint as well as in life," said Alverstone, smiling. "I 
 see his eyes find me at whatever angle. He is in truth 
 omnipresent." 
 
 Then Alverstone walked back and forth in front, of 
 the portrait, saying : "This is fine, fine, indeed ! You are 
 a great artist, I know." 
 
 Nevere said nothing; he only smiled a satisfaction 
 in the delight of his guest. Then he took up a long pole, 
 used for adjusting the different curtains on as many 
 different rods across the window, and pushed back all 
 the curtains except a pair of delicate white silk ones. 
 These he drew together so as to exclude every ray of 
 the glaring sunlight, which at that hour of the day was 
 very powerful almost blinding." 
 
 "I will show you something else," said the artist. "I 
 will show you what I think is my best. I have just 
 varnished it, and in that state of development I never 
 leave a portrait in this room. Now, if you will kindly 
 excuse me, I will go and fetch it." 
 
 Alverstone, still looking at the speaking countenance 
 of the Cardinal, turned toward Nevere, saying: "I can 
 not see how any one could produce a portrait finer than 
 this. If it is true that this is not your best, I assure 
 you I am glad that you have told me this before you 
 introduced your masterpiece." 
 
 Nevere disappeared. Alverstone looked around at 
 other portraits. He understood why Nevere lived so 
 high up. He recognized one portrait as that of a cabinet 
 minister whose unfortunate convictions and eloquent 
 discourses had made him resign his office. Another, as 
 
 73
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 that of a society woman whom Paris had known for 
 three seasons, and who would, no doubt, to all outward 
 appearance, be one of its leaders for many seasons to 
 come. And, too, there were certain men of genius, whose 
 long hair and lean, strong-set faces gave them their badge 
 of distinction. 
 
 Nevere quickly returned, carrying in his arms a 
 large, unframed canvas, keeping the back toward Alver- 
 stone. He placed it upon an easel, where he knew the 
 light was best. 
 
 Alverstone at once recognized the woman whose 
 beauty had attracted Lieutenant Trent at the Cafe de 
 la Paix. 
 
 "There, that is my best. You recognize her?" 
 inquired Nevere. 
 
 "Yes," answered Alverstone, quickly ; "she is the lady 
 who entered the cafe with you last evening." 
 
 "It is she," said Nevere; "Madame La Blanche, the 
 attorney's wife, of whom I spoke." 
 
 "That is surely perfect," said Alverstone. 
 
 The artist said nothing, only stood smiling, lost in 
 contemplation of his work, that, to him, represented the 
 best of which his talent was capable. 
 
 "You are a genius. You will place this portrait in the 
 Salon next season, will you not?" 
 
 "If Madame permits, I shall do so." 
 
 The portrait represented Madame La Blanche seated 
 and taken three-quarter size. The arms and neck bare, 
 only a small strap across the shoulders. The dress fit 
 very close to the figure. The chest was high and the 
 waist tapered gracefully, according to the French notion 
 of a fashionable waist line. The dress, of lemon-colored 
 velvet, contrasted well with the dark beauty of the hair 
 and eyes. A diamond dog collar clasped around her 
 throat. She was seated upon a dainty mahogany chair, 
 
 74
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 one arm of which was obliterated by suitable draperies; 
 the other arm of the chair, which was hidden from sight 
 by three small cushions, gave sufficient support for the 
 right arm, which rested there in graceful harmony with 
 the position of the body and the poise of the head. 
 
 Alverstone could find nothing so strikingly beautiful 
 in the form or the face of the model, for she was that 
 fastidiously fashionable beauty which social Paris adores. 
 But the way the light caught the rich lemon velvet at 
 the round of the folds and chased the shadows into its 
 hollows was bewitching. 
 
 Upon the velvet festooned across the chest were odd 
 lights and shadows. They did not come from a general 
 light, for they were too small and seemed to quiver. They 
 were the small reflections cast from the diamonds worn 
 at her throat. 
 
 "Come," said Nevere, going toward a divan; "come, 
 let us be seated here and take this view of the portrait." 
 
 Alverstone accepted the seat, remarking as he did 
 so : "You must be very fond of music to obligate yourself 
 to the discharge of the daily duties devolving upon a 
 flutist at the Opera." 
 
 "Every one says that, but the cause of my devotion 
 to my flute is a very long tale," and he stared toward the 
 canvas, but his eyes looked over it, as though they peered 
 into some dark corner. Then, after a moment's silence, 
 he continued : "I like you, my young man, and if you have 
 time and care to listen, I will tell you my story." 
 
 "I have time, and I am pleased to be privileged to 
 listen to words from so great a genius as I find here, in 
 the person of Etienne Nevere." 
 
 "Thank you," said Nevere, smiling faintly; "you are 
 very kind, my friend," he went on, "for such you are. 
 Let us have a smoke." 
 
 And in preparation he opened a rose-pearl cigarette 
 
 75'
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 case, which lay upon the little stand near him. 
 
 "No doubt yours are the best, but I have here a 
 cigarette which I would like you to try first," said Alver- 
 stone, as he took from his pocket the little jeweled cigar- 
 ette case which he always carried with him. 
 
 They smoked Alverstone's first, and then Nevere's, 
 then Alverstone's again before they left the studio. 
 
 There was a long time that neither spoke. They only 
 smoked and looked vacantly at the slowly circling clouds 
 of smoke, and strange, but not infrequent, these chance- 
 made friends smoked regularly and in unison. And 
 when the rings of visible exhalations had become so big 
 that they vanished into the air of the room, the two men 
 were still looking absently at the creation in the lemon- 
 colored velvet. 
 
 "When I was a young man," began Nevere, "about 
 your age, five-and-twenty, and a happy enthusiast in my 
 studio, I had painted many persons of renown some of 
 great renown. Many of my pictures hung in the Salon. 
 I had been awarded prizes yes, I was happy I was 
 young, and, like you, I had never loved deeply." 
 
 He set his jaw. His eyes grew very small and fierce, 
 and the tone rang hard and regretful. 
 
 Alverstone saw for the first time that Nevere was 
 not such an easy, careless man as he had seemed at first. 
 
 "One day a young woman came into my studio. She 
 was in company with a composer, at that time very cele- 
 brated, and for whom I was painting a portrait. He 
 wished her to see the portrait, and she had come to stay 
 through the sitting. She came but once she remained 
 forever. Do not start so, my friend; she is not here in 
 person. She is here only in memory in sacred, sacred 
 memory. 
 
 "When the composer came for the next sitting I 
 asked him who she was. He explained that she was a 
 
 76
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 lyric soprano, who had just made her debut at the Mon- 
 naie, Brussels, and was now singing in the Opera House 
 here. I knew nothing of music, but had a naturally good 
 tenor voice. I began the cultivation of my voice, choos- 
 ing for my master a celebrity here in Paris. The master 
 said: 'My boy, you have a fine voice, a promising one.' 
 After three years of assiduous application I left, with my 
 voice completely broken ruined lost beyond recovery. 
 I have never since been able to sing a note. My physi- 
 cians pronounced it a case of destruction of the vocal 
 cords by gas, for at that time I used gas for lighting 
 purposes. After that my master, who had been proud 
 of my voice, told every member of his school the danger 
 lurking in the use of gas, for gas entirely destroys the 
 delicate velvet on the vocal cords. 
 
 "Then came two months of deep despair. The deeper 
 it became the stronger grew my love. One day I chanced 
 to see this idol of my heart conversing with a flutist. It 
 was my hope. I decided at once to be a flutist. Then 
 I would play for her. She w r ould converse with me. My 
 ecstasy became almost as wild as had been my despair. 
 I entered heart and soul into the study of the flute. For 
 it was my first love, as it is now, and I loved with my 
 soul. Then came my engagement at the Opera, where 
 you see me now. Her engagement there expired at the 
 end of my first year as flutist. 
 
 "In the years that followed she often came back, but 
 only for a night at a time. Millions of the music-loving 
 portion of the large cities have listened to the wealth 
 of glorious melody which she has poured forth upon them, 
 while I I have remained a stationary flutist, in order 
 that on each return of my beautiful singer I may at least 
 say a few words, and they are a very few at most. But, 
 alas !" and a deep sigh escaped his well-drawn lips, "it 
 was too late; she was married to an exacting creature 
 
 77
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 her art I would not tell this to every one. No doubt 
 you have heard this woman sing. She was Queen Mar- 
 guerite in 'Les Huguenots' last night." 
 
 Alverstone started, and a smothered cry escaped him. 
 
 "Yes, she is Madame Cinati," explained Nevere, in 
 a resigned tone. "It is a dreadful thing, my friend, to 
 love a singer a serious singer. 
 
 "Beware ! they are as beautiful as gems. They shine, 
 they twinkle. Kings and people have spoiled them so. 
 Nothing is rare or lovely to them. They are so cold." 
 
 Alverstone had grown so reflective that it was not the 
 past story of a flutist, but the real one of a young life 
 his own enacting itself upon its own plain. 
 
 "Beware ! singers are cold." What hard words they 
 were. Were they true? He could almost feel his heart 
 beat. His face had changed. He did not see the change, 
 but the painter did, and the story-teller, artist that he 
 was, paused in his narrative to catch the lines. 
 
 Nevere understood why they were there. He had 
 looked before into a mirror, when love had first tasted 
 at his heart, and he remembered where and how the 
 lines were drawn. 
 
 At last Alverstone awoke from his reverie, for the 
 voice of his companion had changed. It was too 
 shrewdly wise as age when it laughs at the love of 
 youth. 
 
 "You are in love, deeply in love. Whoever she may 
 be, if she be a singer or artist-pupil beware ! and when 
 she smiles sweetly or sings divinely, remember it is for 
 her art and it will always be thus. Beware ! Beware !"
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Some time before the evening, at the Hotel Cecil in 
 London, the Trents had sent out invitations for a soiree 
 et souper to be given in Paris, at the mansion of Lady 
 Trent's sister, the 'Princesse de Loire. It was In honor 
 of their son, Sir Reginald Trent, to be Earl of Essexby, 
 Lieutenant of the 23d Light Guard. Some hundreds of 
 very congenial friends had been invited, and now on this 
 Tuesday evening the guests were arriving almost ensem- 
 ble, for every kind of carriage and automobile was seen 
 in the long line, slowly taking its place in front of the 
 mansion, in at the entrance of which hundreds of beau- 
 tiful women and handsome men made their way. 
 
 Large, stately halls, spacious, gilded, mirrored salons, 
 and vast, vaulted galleries had been thrown open and 
 beautifully decorated for the occasion. 
 
 The immense conservatory was dimly lighted through- 
 out, and amid its wilderness of tropical plants, many of 
 them of the rarest species, and its profusion of delicately 
 scented flowers banked on every side, were to be found 
 many seats, along the labyrinthian ways which led 
 through this delightful garden of beauty ; and while some 
 seats were in conspicuous places, others were less promi- 
 nent, while some were entirely hidden from the eye of 
 the casual observer, but easily found by the more or less 
 inquisitive in search of a quiet chat with a friend. On 
 every side was found evidence of the great wealth and 
 exquisite taste of the owner of the mansion, and all who 
 were so fortunate as to find themselves there were sure 
 to remember the occasion as one of more than passing 
 moment. 
 
 An army of servants in imposing livery was in 
 attendance from the time the -first carriage made the 
 
 79
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 turn around the pink marble fountain in the great court 
 and drew rein before the massive stone arch of the main 
 entrance way, until it rolled away again and the heavy 
 outside gates closed behind it. These very self-important 
 personages can add much to the beauty of a scene, if 
 they wish to do so, and in the mansion of the Princesse 
 de Loire all was dignity, grace, beauty; for the servant 
 etiquette was a severe code, and all knew it and obeyed it. 
 
 Everywhere one found the arrangement perfect and 
 magnificent. Some of those invited were there because it 
 was the fashion in their social circle ; others, out of curi- 
 osity; some, for political reasons, and still others because 
 of the matrimonial possibilities with the young English 
 officer, Reginald Trent, in whose honor the evening was 
 given; but many, because they loved the noble Lady 
 Trent and approved of the life and character of herself 
 and of her honorable husband, Lord Trent. 
 
 Among the large number of distinguished guests of 
 the hour were many from the artistic world painters, 
 sculptors, musicians, composers; and, too, there were 
 statesmen, men of letters, naval officers, soldiers, besides 
 quite a number of Americans, renowned for their wealth 
 or artistic abilities; and, of course, there were many 
 from the high titled aristocracy of both England and the 
 Continent. 
 
 In most instances each gentleman was accompanied by 
 the ladies of his family, in sufficient number at least to 
 give a tone of brilliance and gaiety ; to which, when was 
 added the bright uniforms of the soldiers and officers, 
 the scene became one of superb grandeur, as well as one 
 of bright, sparkling, enjoyable intercourse. 
 
 For, as every one knows, there is nothing so surely 
 predicts the success of an evening as diversity of taste 
 among the guests. 
 
 80
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Outside the moon hung high up over Napoleon's Arc 
 de Triomphe a silver boat, with both horns horizontal 
 and pointing northeast and southwest. It dipped and 
 floated and dipped again through the large fleecy clouds 
 chasing rapidly across the deep blue of the midnight sky ; 
 for the clock had just passed the eleventh hour of the 
 night before the last carriage bearing the invited guests 
 had arrived. 
 
 Here, there, everywhere, were seen little groups 
 chatting gaily the while in bits of lively conversation or 
 promenading m couples, through the .spacious halls and 
 salons; some stopping now and then to enjoy with some 
 group or couple the flashes of wit or humor flung out and 
 parried by the brilliant contestants for the honor of 
 supremacy in the battle, then flitting on again to join 
 some other interesting group, until the whole resplendent 
 throng reflected the dazzling brilliancy of a restless sun- 
 lit sea. 
 
 In all this happy world of ceaseless activity there was 
 at least one incongenial soul one who seemed to seek 
 in vain for some one or something. This was an indi- 
 vidual who, after a turn of all the galleries, salons and 
 recesses, took a position in the first salon, behind a 
 bank closely built of tall ferns. From this point it was 
 easy for him to see the faces of those who came to pay 
 their respects to Lord and Lady Trent and their son, 
 Lieutenant Trent, at the head of the receiving line. He 
 had not long to wait, for soon from the depths of his 
 retreat he heard approaching footsteps that told of a duty 
 yet unperformed. 
 
 Peering through the interlocking fern fronds he saw 
 oh ! yes, he saw the face of the young woman who alone 
 could still the tumult within his soul. Did he see Madame 
 Cinati ? No, though she was there, radiant in her loveli- 
 
 81
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 ness. She was handsomely gowned in bright pink, 
 which, with her diamond tiara, gave one the impression 
 of a beautiful rose crowned with a dewdrop tiara spark- 
 ling brilliantly and reflecting the prismatic colors in scin- 
 tillating profusion ; and besides this fascination of out- 
 ward appearance, a world-renowned prima donna always 
 radiates from depths of hidden resources a strength her 
 greatest power ; and in this characteristic Madami Cinati 
 had no superior, for she was one of those singers who 
 are known to the entire civilized world as noble women, 
 whose hearts as well as voices are divinely inspired to do 
 good wherever God, in His unerring wisdom, leads their 
 steps or guides as a bird, from clime to clime, their cer- 
 tain flight. 
 
 Such persons are not to be compared with ordinary 
 mortals, but are like unto some king, leader of men, 
 poet, priest or prophet, who rises up from the mass, 
 absorbing and representing the thoughts, feelings, pur- 
 poses, sentiments of a generation of men or a race of 
 people. 
 
 But Hampton Alverstone saw not Madame Cinati, nor 
 even heard the crystalline quality of her voice, for there 
 was admitted to his mind's eye but the one image, and 
 that was of the woman for whom he had searched since 
 his arrival, and about whose coming he had begun to 
 have a shade of doubt. 
 
 Now she was here, and would he let beauty, fascina- 
 tion, power, any commendable qualification attributable 
 to cultivated humanity, snatch from him one moment of 
 the exquisite joy joy akin to pain he felt at seeing her ! 
 
 His eyes followed them as, after due ceremony, they 
 left the receiving line, passing down the way that all 
 graciously accorded them, for to most of those assembled 
 Madame Cinati was a personal friend ; and on this occa- 
 sion her vivacious manner, as she turned on this side and 
 
 82
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 i 
 
 on that to acknowledge the homage all vied with one 
 another in paying her, was most charming. The warm 
 smiles of her fine, sensitive mouth played hide and seek 
 with the happy lights constantly seen in her large brown 
 eyes, and were changeful only to suit each particular 
 person or persons with whom she paused for a moment. 
 
 Julia was beside her and presented a picture of charm- 
 ing simplicity in her white dress of exquisite crepe de 
 Chine. She wore no jewels except a small string of 
 pearls clasped around her neck, and carried only a dainty 
 little fan. She was in pleasing contrast with the great, 
 brilliant, captivating Madame Cinati. 
 
 Alverstone tried to get near them by going directly 
 through the grand salon, but owing to the nearness of 
 the receiving line, where guests always linger in crowd- 
 ing parties, he soon saw that this was not easy. He 
 decided to pass through an adjoining salon and come 
 out at the farther end, where he would meet them in 
 their course down the first salon. 
 
 When nearing the tediously sought door for in this 
 salon there were many guests as well he saw Madame 
 Nitolsk, at some little distance, coming toward him, as 
 fast as she could make her way through the groups and 
 promenaders. But before she had approached near 
 enough to attract his attention, Alverstone at once 
 affected total ignorance of her presence and abruptly 
 turned and quickly lost himself in the thickest of the 
 crowd. After quite a little struggle on his part for he 
 had held himself to the midst of the crowd, wishing to 
 remain perfectly concealed from Madame Nitolsk, he 
 found himself through the door he had at first tried to 
 gain and in the second salon. 
 
 But this had taken him longer than he had expected, 
 and as he scanned the faces of the many groups about 
 him he could not see Julia's face nor that of Madame 
 
 83
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Cinati. Suddenly a sweet crystalline voice just behind 
 made him turn. It was Madame Cinati. She was con- 
 versing with the Austrian Ambassador and the wife of 
 an English General; but Alverstone had never had the 
 honor of a personal friendship with Madame Cinati, so 
 continued on a short distance farther. 
 
 Here he found Julia seated and conversing with an 
 Italian Prince and the Spanish Ambassador, both of 
 whom she engaged in a very lively conversation. 
 
 As he came up behind them, this being the only 
 avenue of approach, he heard her clear voice, now speak- 
 ing in the beautiful language of Tasso with the Italian 
 Prince and in the polite language of the French with the 
 Spanish Minister. Alverstone could not speak from the 
 position in which, for the near present at least, he was 
 forced to remain. 
 
 He could wait, though he was content, for he was 
 near. He was not jealous of the Prince, and the Spanish 
 Minister was the husband of the lady just a few steps 
 before him, who just then was having an animated con- 
 versation with a literary man, whom Alverstone knew 
 as a noted American writer a novelist. 
 
 He could not help hearing the comments upon the 
 subject of music which passed between Julia and her two 
 companions, and he was proud to know that his young 
 countrywoman was fully capable of continuing at some 
 length the conversation, which it was very evident had 
 not been engaged in for the sake of ceremony alone 
 and with such men, for both were, first and foremost, 
 fiercely interested in all that pertained to statesmanship, 
 and were not often held for long upon a subject not 
 either directly or indirectly touching upon a question of 
 state. 
 
 Finally Alverstone succeeded in stepping around and 
 in front of the three. 
 
 84
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Julia at once put out her hand, saying: "Good eve- 
 ning, Mr. Alverstone ; I am very glad to see you." 
 
 "Thank you ; I have been close behind you for some 
 little time. I could not help hearing your lively discus- 
 sion." 
 
 "You are fond of music?" said the Prince, with an 
 interrogation in his voice. 
 
 "Ah, very, Prince; very, very." 
 
 "This is a fine place to be, then, for we are to have 
 an excellent program this evening," asserted the Spanish 
 Minister. 
 
 "And it is to be rendered by the best talent in the 
 world," said the American Ambassador, who had come 
 up just when the Minister had begun to speak. 
 
 Julia looked up at Alverstone and smiled. He smiled 
 back at her, saying: "We are all artists not all artists 
 as to the performance, but I think I can say in truthful- 
 ness that we are all artist-listeners." 
 
 "Ah, ha! my countryman; that is well put," said the 
 American Ambassador, patting Alverstone on the shoul- 
 der in fatherly fashion. "I had not thought of it in that 
 light, but I often wondered what position I did hold in 
 the musical world. Now I see ; I play no instrument and 
 I sing only the simplest melodies, but now I see I am 
 an artist-listener, for I could listen without ceasing to 
 the great artists of song and of instrumentation." 
 
 This the Ambassador gave to his auditors with no 
 little bit of eloquence, for he had always been especially 
 gifted in holding attentions, and on this occasion he had 
 the added good fortune of speaking to gentlemen of 
 European cultivation, and every one knows what that 
 means. 
 
 Then all smiled and assented to the .declaration of the 
 American, and then their eyes followed in the direction 
 
 85
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 indicated by the Prince, who said: "Now, there is one 
 who will exhaust every resource of all who are able to 
 listen to his art." 
 
 "Ah!" said Julia; "you refer to the pianist?" 
 
 "Yes, it is he," replied the Prince; "he is on the 
 program this evening." 
 
 "Monsieur Dedireaux is great great great," said 
 Julia, thoughtfully, shaking her head, while pro- 
 nouncing the adjective thrice and very slowly, as if she 
 were under the spell of some of Monsieur Dedireaux's 
 inspirations upon the piano. 
 
 The American Ambassador here addressed himself 
 to Madame Cinati, who had just come up, saying: "My 
 dear Madame Cinati, allow me to thank you for the 
 very kind protection you have given my little American 
 girl, Miss Pembroke." 
 
 "Ah, kind sir," replied Madame Cinati, "I beg of 
 you desist. Miss Pembroke is a true American girl, 
 consequently quite capable of protecting herself. Beyond 
 a little advice, I assure you she has required no attention 
 from me. My dear sir, your country produces much 
 gold, much financial wealth, but, what is of vastly 
 greater importance to any nation, your country is filled 
 with self-reliant women both young and old." 
 
 She paused, and, elevating her eyebrows, smiled 
 with lips slightly parted and looked into his face with 
 a questioning expression, which seemed to ask, "True, 
 is it not?" And then she looked at Julia, who had 
 attracted her by a pretty little aspirated ha! ha! 
 
 "Thank you, thank you, Madame Cinati, in behalf 
 of my countrywomen, I thank you. I know you speak 
 from the sincerity of your heart. I am pleased to hear 
 this eulogium from one who has visited all lands and 
 who knows all the principal nations of the world." 
 
 "Ah, Prince, you here?" said a newcomer a Count 
 
 86
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Dunkellsdorf, a German officer, in full dress uniform 
 addressing himself to the Prince. "But, pardon, I should 
 have known that you were here." 
 
 "Why should you know?" asked the Prince. "I 
 might not have been so fortunate." 
 
 "Aha! my Prince; I should expect you to be here 
 for the reason that I just left Madame the Princesse." 
 
 "Ah! did you? Where is she now?" 
 
 "About halfway up this salon, in company with some 
 friends, and she is very happy." 
 
 The Prince excused himself, saying that he wished 
 to speak with his mother, and he, in company with the 
 German officer, went away. 
 
 The American Ambassador and the Spanish Minister 
 were lost to all but themselves, and were in danger, 
 through an aberration of the brain, of going off into a 
 very heated discussion over the Philippine question. 
 
 Alverstone had slipped into the seat left vacant by 
 the departure of the Prince, and Julia and Alverstone 
 were alone, for though in the grand salon of the man- 
 sion of the Prince de Loire, and in the midst of many 
 hundreds of guests, they were entirely alone alone 
 together and for the first time in their lives. 
 
 But to have seen them sitting there, chatting quietly, 
 with not the slightest sign of nervousness betrayed by 
 either, and yet with nothing of the undue familiarity 
 of the snobbish American, one could scarcely be induced 
 to believe that this was their first meeting; yet it was, 
 since the little time in the Opera on the evening before 
 had afforded no opportunity for such a delicious bit of 
 a tete-a-tete as was this. 
 
 "Since coming, I have spent the entire time in looking 
 for you," observed Alverstone. 
 
 "Why, how can you say that, when all around you 
 are the most attractive ladies and brave, handsome, wise 
 
 87
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 and learned men?" and she laughed sweetly. 
 
 "I agree that you assert facts, but so do I when I 
 say I have sought you and I have cared for no one 
 else; for, Miss Pembroke, I have something of especial 
 interest to say to you." 
 
 "To me?" she asked, with exclamatory effect. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Pembroke. I I" 
 
 "Oh! oh! pardon me, but that is Madame Cinati 
 singing. Let us go to the music room." 
 
 . The crowd in the salon had melted away unobserved 
 by the happy pair. She arose and went quickly in the 
 direction of the music room, followed by Alverstone. 
 
 They took chairs just inside the music room, but at 
 a point from which they could see Madame Cinati, who 
 was then singing the Bell Song from "Lakme" sing- 
 ing in all the beauty which the singing of that aria war- 
 rants. 
 
 Julia feasted her eyes upon Madame Cinati alone, 
 and every emotion expressed by the prima donna found 
 ready response within the soul of Julia. Her face 
 registered the gain. 
 
 But Alverstone, seated a little back and to the left of 
 Julia, could, without an unseemly display of his adoring 
 spirit, look at Julia. He heard not the plaintive melody, 
 nor the capricious flights of the simple Hindoo legend; 
 nor did he hear that almost impossible coloratura pas- 
 sage the fantastic tinkle of the tiny silver bell, with 
 its lavish precipitous staccatos, its throbbing trills, its 
 fluttering descents, its enrapturing roulades and its inces- 
 santly heedless consideration of cherished notes. He 
 saw only Julia. Since that day near the master's he 
 had known no peace of mind. He had followed her from 
 afar, yet as close as lie dare with consistency do so, and 
 now she was here, beside him, and he could speak to 
 her as much and as often as etiquette of the evening
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 would permit; and she was pleased with him this he 
 could not help seeing. How could he? And if she did 
 not hold him in the same regard in which he held her, 
 at least her manner showed a pleased contentment in 
 his attentions. 
 
 When Madame Cinati had finished singing and the 
 hum, of voices lifted in compliment to the vocal powers 
 of the singer, became general, Julia turned her large, 
 liquid eyes upon Alverstone. He saw and read in their 
 depths a verification of what he had been noting men- 
 tally. Yes, Julia Pembroke's eyes spoke the silent lan- 
 guage of love. He believed he would ask her to prome- 
 nade, but just then the great pianist took his seat and 
 the piano was speaking soulfully to the assembled guests, 
 who, listening breathlessly, seemed electrified under the 
 spell produced by the contact of the fingers of the grand 
 old pianist with the keys of the instrument, out through 
 which he poured his soul. 
 
 To one whose ears have never known piano music 
 beyond the thrum of the average performer, the wealth 
 of sympathetic glory sent out from the magnetic fingers 
 of the old genius could never be imagined. 
 
 When he had gone through all the soul-stirring move- 
 ments of Beethoven's Sonata in C sharp minor, one 
 certainly felt as did the blind girl, when Ludwig von 
 Beethoven composed it and gave her, through the medi- 
 um of that instrument upon which his fingers wrought, 
 the sympathetic imagery of his soul transmitting a 
 full description of that beautiful moonlight night which 
 her lately blinded eyes failed her in the seeing. 
 
 Julia again looked at Alverstone, but this time she 
 looked for the effect of the beautiful sonata upon the 
 musical sense of her friend. Yes, she saw he had been 
 touched, and deeply, too. He did not seem to overcome 
 
 89
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 his absorption, though the hum of voices was general 
 as before, for his absorption was thorough. 
 
 Julia addressed him with the question, "You are 
 fond of the Monsieur Dedireaux's art?" 
 
 "Ah, that is" 
 
 "My dear Miss Pembroke," nervously exclaimed Lady 
 Trent, suddenly breaking in upon them, "Madame la 
 Princesse de Grancourt wishes to meet you." Then low- 
 ering her voice so that only Julia heard, she went on 
 quickly: "Her son is a great friend of the impresario at 
 Covent Garden, London, and the Princess herself is a 
 great patron of your art." 
 
 "I have often heard of the Princesse de Grancourt," 
 said Julia. 
 
 "Have you reference to the Duke de Grancourt?" 
 asked Alverstone. 
 
 "You know him, do you ?" inquired Lady Trent. 
 
 "Oh, yes; very well. I met him and the Duchess at 
 Biarritz." 
 
 "How pleasant! You must meet him in Paris." 
 
 "Is he here now?" asked Alverstone. 
 
 "No, only the Princess is here; the Duke and 
 Duchess are on the Riviera. They are like my brother 
 and sister; they are afraid of the winters in Paris; but 
 the Duke comes here soon to remain a few days." 
 
 "Ah, I see," returned Alverstone. 
 
 "Pardon, Monsieur Alverstone, but you will excuse 
 us ; the Princess is waiting." 
 
 Alverstone bowed his pleasure in granting Lady 
 Trent's request, though inwardly he felt displeasure at 
 losing Julia. 
 
 Lady Trent, with Julia on her arm, passed out of 
 the music room. 
 
 Alverstone was recalled from his quiet musing by 
 a cheery voice saying: "Why this deep absorption?" 
 
 90
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Alverstone turned. "Ah, Trent; I am music struck." 
 
 Perhaps this was so. Who knows ? 
 
 "Then let me introduce you to Madame Cinati," said 
 Trent. 
 
 "I should be glad indeed to know her." 
 
 Madame Cinati received him cordially, greeting him 
 as she always did Americans as fortunate, indeed, that 
 they were born in that glorious country, "the name of 
 which," she said, "means opportunity." 
 
 Alverstone was much elated with the treatment 
 shown him by Madame Cinati, for well he knew that 
 the guardian of every beautiful voice jealously guards 
 that voice and its possessor as well, from every possible 
 danger, and danger may be scented in each new arrival 
 within the circle of friends. 
 
 Madame Cinati had assisted Julia because she felt 
 that she had found a star, and, in the words of a great 
 teacher in Europe, Madame Cinati could say: "I am an 
 artist; I care nothing for money." 
 
 "I think," said Madame Cinati, fastening her large 
 brown eyes upon Alverstone, "you are one of my friends, 
 from beyond the Atlantic. Am I right?" 
 
 "Yes, Madame Cinati, I belong there; but I have 
 spent much time on the Eastern Continent," answered 
 Alverstone. 
 
 "You are not from Chicago, no?" 
 
 "No, I am a native of New York City." 
 
 "Ah ! I love your beautiful city I love your vast, 
 vast land I love its great free atmosphere everything 
 there is great." 
 
 "Thank you, Madame Cinati; I am glad you like 
 my country. But you can not help liking our people, 
 for they love you." 
 
 "Oh, yes, they love my art much. Excuse me, Mr. 
 Alverstone," begged Madame Cinati, as she turned from
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Alverstone to the pianist, who had come up and uncon- 
 sciously executed a delicately refined staccato movement 
 upon her arm while he spoke. 
 
 "Dear Madame Cinati, you will do me the honor of 
 this number hear ! The music is sounding, and I fain 
 would tread the measures of the dance with you." 
 
 Madame Cinati laughed sweetly and said: "It is I 
 who would be honored, my dear brother in art." 
 
 "No no" 
 
 "I beg pardon, Monsieur," said the deep voice of the 
 Austrian Ambassador, interrupting the pianist; "but I 
 think we have this number, do we not, Madame Cinati ?" 
 
 Madame Cinati bowed assent, and, paying their re- 
 spects to the old pianist, -the two went off in the direction 
 of the ballroom, leaving the old man, with the godlike 
 head, looking after them, mentally pronouncing them a 
 "noble pair," and wondering if he would prefer being a 
 large and handsome man, like the great statesman, to 
 being the little man of emaciation that he was, with the 
 soul of a pianist, such as he felt himself to be and such 
 as the world told him he was. And there were two very 
 self-satisfied men there, for neither would be the other, 
 if he could be. 
 
 While Alverstone had stood smiling at the group, he 
 heard nothing of what they had said, for he had seen 
 only Madame Cinati, and was lost to all but the love 
 story which Etienne Nevere, the flutist and artist, had 
 told him of himself and Madame Cinati. And Alver- 
 stone shuddered at the thought that a similar love story 
 might be that of his own, with the difference that Julia 
 Pembroke would be the heroine of the latter. 
 
 Alverstone's reverie had been broken off by the pic- 
 ture of Madame Cinati bowing her adieus to trie admiring 
 group around her, while to the old pianist she was mak- 
 ing a most deferential courtesy. 
 
 92
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Their departure for the ballroom had made him 
 recall that he had not made Julia his partner for this 
 dance, so he turned to find her. He supposed she must 
 be near, in this salon, where he had seen her with *he 
 Princesse de Grancourt, for whom she had left him. 
 
 Not seeing her in a general survey, he turned to go 
 out of the salon, to make a further search, when a hand 
 was laid on his arm in a manner that said, "Allow me 
 to detain you." 
 
 He turned and looked into the eyes of Madame 
 Nitolsk. He recoiled a little, but she did not see it. She 
 looked more like a dream vision than a real person, 
 and if she was a beautiful woman by daylight, to-night 
 she was the most beautiful dark woman at the soiree. 
 A creature that seemed to have been formed at night, 
 in a magic moon-spell, under a starlit sky; for her 
 step had stolen the silence of the night; her eyes had 
 caught that soft reflection of the distant stars ; her 
 breath had sucked the perfume of the flowers ; her move- 
 ment had caught the rhythm of the wind, but her mind 
 had gathered the narcotics of the night-dug plants. She 
 was a very beautiful woman. Every one who saw her 
 declared that. 
 
 She wore a rare creation of turquoise satin, spangled 
 tulle and gold lace. The dress proper was tightly fit 
 and of turquoise satin, and showed the round but deli- 
 cate symmetry of the lithe form. There was a gold lace 
 bodice that fit like a bolero over the deep chest. It had 
 the form of two immense butterflies. And the fine gold 
 of its threads was as delicate as the filament of a cob- 
 web ; from the end of this bolero hung the star-shot 
 tulle. It covered the long court train, but it did not 
 entirely hide the exquisite beauty of the shell-colored 
 blue. This gauze cover did not fall over the front of 
 the gown ; it only came to the side of the bolero, for the 
 
 93
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 costume was a mixture of two styles. It had a Princess 
 front and an Empire back. 
 
 It was one of those creations which clings to all the 
 sensuous curves of the form, yet half conceals them with 
 some transparent yet misty fabric, which makes the hid- 
 den curve thrice lovelier than it really is. 
 
 The entire tulle cover was sewed with Oriental pearls, 
 and here and there it was caught with rubies. The dress 
 came to a point at both front and back, and the pretty 
 curve of the full shoulders and the smooth perfection 
 of the chest were exposed. The shapely arms were also 
 bare, and a band of dull gold, encrusted all over with 
 rubies, encircled one arm just above the elbow, and 
 there were also many jeweled rings which adorned her 
 small fingers. She wore a ruby plastron which covered 
 the entire front of the bodice. The red of the gems 
 matched well with the beauty of the skin, for Madame 
 Nitolsk was a very dark woman. Her skin had that 
 deep olive tinge which makes the eyes larger and more 
 lustrous than they really are. Her hair was blue black, 
 straight and very soft. It did not have a mourning 
 sheen as hair of that color often has, for when she stood 
 where a soft light fell on it, which she often did, there 
 was a burnished shimmering all over it. But whatever 
 this light came from, it enhanced her loveliness, and she 
 knew it. It gave warmth to the colorless cheek, and it 
 seemed to light lamps in her languorous eyes, which the 
 heavy, curving lashes so often almost concealed. 
 
 They were large eyes, with dull black orbs that 
 hung heavily from their lids. They had many expres- 
 sions. They often were inert and oppressively steady, 
 but more often they were restless and seemed searching 
 for something. 
 
 The nose was small, straight, delicate, and the nostrils 
 were sensitive and high-bred. 
 
 94
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Her mouth was small and finely cut, though the lower 
 lip was fuller at the middle than would follow in propor- 
 tion to its upper. , 
 
 There was nothing in part striking about this beau- 
 tiful face it was too perfect. 
 
 A La Valliere was around her throat, and half cut 
 the sinuous forward turn of the neck where it joined the 
 body. 
 
 The marked level brow, the placid forehead, the 
 roundness of the small chin on either side of the point, 
 where it should have been oval, showed the fierce, sullen 
 determination of her nature. 
 
 She was about medium height, but the winding grace 
 of her movements and the cautiousness of her gait made 
 her appear taller than she really was. There was fas- 
 cination in the walk; there was captivation in the form 
 and features, and there was allurement in the sweet, low 
 voice. 
 
 Often the deep color would rise to her cheek, and the 
 salmon of her lips would become a creamy pink and 
 the heavy orbs would dilate. But this was rarely. This 
 was when vital emotions stirred her, and the world 
 never guessed these great interior tempests. 
 
 She was a masker, for ever since she had entered her 
 teens jealousy had come as an echo to the voice of love, 
 and she was now five-and-twenty. She was a cunning, 
 artful creature a brain capable of dark deeds and willing 
 to perpetrate them; a soulless beauty; a flower of the 
 Datura. 
 
 She took him coquettishly by the arm, and with a 
 lithe, sinuous motion, bent her head in front of him, so 
 that the large black eyes flashed the fire of her desire 
 fully into his sickened soul. 
 
 "You are not dancing," she began, importunately; "I 
 
 95
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 am not dancing." Then, after a moment's pause, she 
 added: "Why not?" 
 
 There was another pause, and then the deep, sweet 
 voice went on again, and there was a silver ripple in its 
 rhythm. 
 
 "Let us join the happy dancers." 
 
 Alverstone had no excuse, aside from a flat refusal, 
 and this he was far too gentlemanly to offer ; so they went 
 and were soon whirling as though all was joyous and 
 bright with this Hampton Alverstone and his clinging 
 partner of the waltz. 
 
 Several times during the dance Alverstone saw Julia 
 and Trent. They made a beautiful picture the fair- 
 haired creature in her dress of spotless purity, while 
 Lieutenant Trent, in his gay uniform, which added much 
 to the well-disciplined body, looked a bulwark of protec- 
 tion for innocence so angelic. How could Trent but 
 adore her ! Yes, those eyes of his were filled with some- 
 thing more than friendly regard, but Alverstone could 
 not find fault with Trent, for to Alverstone she was the 
 most superior of women, and any good man would be 
 likely to know this. 
 
 Once as they flit by him he saw a happy light in Julia's 
 eye when she looked over the shoulder of Lieutenant 
 Trent at him. She had smiled at Alverstone, but for an 
 instant, for the glide of the mazy waltz had carried her 
 away into the whirl of dancers, off out of sight of the 
 man to whose existence she had become a necessity. 
 
 How strange are the immutable complexities attend- 
 ant upon life ! 
 
 He had given her only a glance, but in that most 
 wonderful thing in the world a glance she had seen 
 his soul's outpouring for her to her. 
 
 No, he could not think of Julia Pembroke as the wife 
 of any one but of himself. 
 
 96
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Who is that young woman with Lieutenant Trent?" 
 asked Madame Nitolsk. "Their odd English manners 
 are pleasing, though they amuse me at the same time. 
 I see they are very fond of each other very, very, 
 indeed." 
 
 "She is not English; she is American," said Alver- 
 stone, with just a shade of the piquancy which he felt. 
 
 "Indeed ! and where has she her setting, a member of 
 the American Embassy?" 
 
 "No, she is a student of song a very promising 
 soprano, I am told, of Signer Novara." 
 
 "The celebrated maestro?" again asked Madame 
 Nitolsk. 
 
 "Yes, he is her maitre." 
 
 "Ah, indeed ! I am quite interested in song myself. 
 I think I should like, to know this young woman." 
 
 This she said not because of any genuine feeling she 
 might have had for the song student in question, but for 
 the reason that she had seen the soul-flit of Alverstone 
 as he cast his quick glance at the mass of gold appearing 
 above the shoulder of Lieutenant Reginald Trent, when 
 the face of Julia Pembroke, glowing with the exhilaration 
 of health and happiness, smiled the greeting in which 
 the animated blue eyes had performed an engaging part. 
 
 Instantaneous as was the glance of Alverstone, it had 
 not escaped the quicker eyes of the young widow 
 Madame Nitolsk. And she, with the intuition of her sex, 
 at once scented danger a possible rival in the affections 
 of Hampton Alverstone. 
 
 "However, that does not prevent Lieutenant Trent 
 from adoring her, something I see he does," remarked 
 Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 The prompting motive for this remark was that she 
 might note the effect upon her partner of the waltz. 
 
 97
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 For her pains she saw nothing, but she heard: "You 
 think Lieutenant Trent adores her?" 
 
 "Yes, I do. You see, a woman needs very little 
 assistance in matters requiring nice points of detection, 
 for woman is guided mostly by intuition." And she 
 followed her assertion by a deep, rich-voiced ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 "I think that young woman too fond of her own 
 country to marry a foreigner," returned Alverstone. 
 
 "These singers are not always steady. They mean 
 well, but their emotions often carry them far away from 
 that which they would pronounce their ideal," retorted 
 Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 "No doubt that is true at times ; but," objected Alver- 
 stone, "I beg to differ from you there, for I have known 
 many singers whose ideals have been of the highest and 
 who have never been guilty of a violation of them." 
 
 "Ah! indeed! I fear me Monsieur Alverstone is a 
 lover of some beautiful songstress. Is it not true?" 
 
 "Pardon, Madame ; but a wise man always keeps his 
 own counsel." 
 
 "Oh, pshaw ! now you are in love, I know." 
 
 Alverstone laughed lightly, and the dance finishing 
 just then, they went slowly from the ballroom. 
 
 When Julia had danced four dances, one with Trent, 
 the next with the Prince di Pastanni, the third with a 
 French officer, the fourth with the English Ambassador, 
 she found herself for the fifth again with Trent. 
 
 She was tired and hot, and so said: "You have 
 danced the last four dances and so have I. Let us go 
 into the conservatory and rest this dance." 
 
 "Anything you suggest, Miss Pembroke," graciously 
 accorded Trent. "Anything will please me, just so I 
 spend the time with you." 
 
 Julia looked up quickly at him, for, knowing as she 
 
 98
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 did his high rank in the English realm and the known 
 position of herself in the social world, she wondered what 
 she should infer from his remark. But he was a soldier, 
 and his face was not easily readable. He knew just how 
 to deport himself suitably upon every occasion. He was 
 gay, frank, versatile, and had been long enough in the 
 Orient to be what woman would pronounce "winningly 
 chivalrous." 
 
 In the dimly lighted conservatory they found a delight- 
 ful retreat 'and seated themselves to chat. 
 
 "Do you like Paris?" asked Trent. "No, I should 
 assert that you like Paris, for every one who comes to 
 Paris once is sure to come again." 
 
 "Yes, I am pleased with Paris, but I have never trav- 
 eled, and so am not capable of making comparisons. I 
 know little of Paris in general, for my studies have kept 
 me close." 
 
 "Your maestro is exacting, I suppose." 
 
 "Oh, no; quite the contrary. One learns easily and 
 well with my master, as much or more by accretion as 
 by direct teaching. I 'adore my master; he is a great 
 man." 
 
 Julia said this, and looked so abstracted that Trent 
 knew she felt what she had said. Then he added : 
 
 "Every one knows that a student going through 
 Signer Novara's school finishing to the maestro's satis- 
 faction must be great." 
 
 "Thank you, Lieutenant Trent. I have so great confi- 
 dence in the master that I take this praise as a personal 
 compliment." 
 
 "Take it, then, and remember that his fame alone will 
 make you win laurels." 
 
 "Thank you again; I hope so for laurels I want, 
 and as many as I deserve." 
 
 Hearing footsteps approaching, Julia looked up and 
 
 99
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 saw Alverstone with the beautiful woman whom she had 
 seen as his partner of the first dance. She thought it 
 must be some one of whom he was very fond, or else 
 they had done similarly as had she and Trent found 
 themselves together again after several dances. 
 
 While they were at some little distance she asked, in 
 a low voice: "Who is that beautiful woman with your 
 friend, Mr. Alverstone?" 
 
 Trent turned and glanced in the direction in which 
 Julia had looked. 
 
 "That," said he, "is Madame Nitolsk a widow." 
 
 "She is not French?" 
 
 "No, I think not; her husband was a banker in Cal- 
 cutta, India. He was fabulously wealthy." 
 
 "Where does she belong, in Paris?" 
 
 "You mean, where she has her holding in society?" 
 
 "No, not that; to find her a guest in this mansion 
 to-night is sufficient recommendation. I meant to ask 
 where she lives." 
 
 But Trent had not time to answer, for they had come 
 quite near, and he turned and addressed them with the 
 question: "Is this dance over?" 
 
 When Alverstone saw Julia and Trent there in that 
 out-of-the-way corner, he tried to lead Madame Nitolsk 
 by another path, hoping to keep her from seeing what 
 he knew would cause her to offer a comment in confirma- 
 tion of what she had said when she had seen Julia smile 
 at him in the dance. 
 
 But Madame Nitolsk seemed to divine his inten- 
 tions, and, without giving him the slightest hint of the 
 same, held him to the path which led past Julia and 
 Trent. 
 
 Alverstone was annoyed at finding himself before his 
 old friend Trent, with Julia happy and contented by his 
 side; but Madame Nitolsk was in a rapture of delight, 
 
 100
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 for she saw Alverstone's annoyance as well as his cha- 
 grin over the turn affairs had taken. 
 
 She told herself that the young singer held Mr. Alver- 
 stone by a chain not easily parted. 
 
 "Introduce me to your friend, Lieutenant Trent," 
 said Madame Nitolsk. I have admired her from afar, 
 and now I would come nearer, if I may. Mr. Alver- 
 stone tells me you are an American," said Madame 
 Nitolsk, as soon as the introduction was over. 
 
 "Yes, I am an American." 
 
 "New York?" 
 
 "No, I am a native of Cincinnati. 
 
 "Indeed, is that place near New York?" asked Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk, this time addressing Alverstone. 
 
 "About a day's distance by rail," he replied, for, 
 without looking at his interlocutor, he felt the force of 
 her raillery. He knew she scarcely heard what was said 
 in answer to her question put, and that she was pleased 
 in his finding Julia and Trent in this secluded nook, 
 where only the most searching eye might be able to see 
 them. 
 
 "I saw you come in with Madame Cinati, and Mr. 
 Alverstone tells me you are very dear friends." 
 
 "Yes, we are," replied Julia, smiling. 
 
 "Are you studying for a like career ?" 
 
 "I hope to sing as a lyric soprano, but I am not quite 
 sure that I can ever have a career such as that of Madame 
 Cinati." 
 
 "One. can not tell what one can do until one has tried 
 one's wings," further observed Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 "Yes, that is true," coincided Julia. 
 
 "She sings like Madame Cinati now," said Trent. 
 smiling down at the two women, for he had given his 
 seat to Madame Nitolsk, and the two men stood before 
 them. 
 
 101
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Oh! and Madame Cinati sings how shall I say?" 
 asked Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 "I think I can not assist you with an unbiased judg- 
 ment," replied Julia, "for, first of all, the lyric soprano 
 is my voice, and I know its possibilities and can appre- 
 ciate the real merit such a voice has ; then I am an ardent 
 lover of the Madame Cinati herself, aside from her artis- 
 tic personality." 
 
 "Now let me say a word, my friends," said Trent, in- 
 a mimic petitionary voice. 
 
 Each assented by a bow of the head, and Trent went 
 on: 
 
 "Miss Pembroke will be the successor of Madame 
 Cinati." 
 
 "You are very kind," said Julia, "to say it, but much 
 kinder to think it. I shall try to please you all when 
 I do sing." 
 
 "When do you make your debut?" asked Madame 
 Nitolsk. 
 
 "A year from this Christmas. At least I hope to 
 sing then." 
 
 "Ah ! I shall be there," replied Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 "And I," said Alverstone. 
 
 "I wish I could add another 'I/ but I am not likely 
 to be able to be there." 
 
 "You will try to come, will you not?" asked Julia, 
 looking at him, her eyes lingering upon his face far 
 longer, Alverstone thought, than was necessary; and, 
 too, he thought Trent purposely, for the pleasure her 
 sweet, questioning smile gave him, delayed the answer 
 for which she waited. 
 
 "I shall certainly endeavor to be there," answered 
 Trent. 
 
 She smiled a satisfaction with the answer, then car- 
 ried her eyes from the face of Trent down to the little 
 
 1 02
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 white fan which she held in her hand, and Madame 
 Nitolsk looked provokingly tantalizing as she gazed hard 
 and steadily at Alver stone, who understood perfectly just 
 what Madame Nitolsk meant by it all. He knew she was 
 asking him in the language of that gaze what he thought 
 of that? And if he thought her intuition was not worth 
 a reckoning, when 'she had told him that the American 
 girl and the English officer were fond of each other? 
 
 "Madame Cinati's voice has the flutelike quality 
 has Mademoiselle Pembroke's the same?" asked Madame 
 Nitolsk, looking first at one and then at the other of the 
 two men before her. 
 
 "I think so," said Trent. 
 
 "I can not say," added Alverstone, "for I have not 
 yet had the good fortune to hear Miss Pembroke sing." 
 
 "Maestro Novara employs a flutist to accompany me 
 when I am finishing my arias and songs," said Julia. 
 
 "Indeed !" exclaimed Madame Nitolsk. "I wonder if 
 that would not lead one to imitate the flute." 
 
 "I think it would," replied Julia. 
 
 "Who is your flutist? I am very fond of the flute." 
 
 This Madame Nitolsk asked for the simple reason that 
 she wished to know another who was one in Julia's world. 
 She knew it would strengthen her cause to know all 
 whose influence in any way would affect Julia's life. 
 
 "Monsieur Nevere," replied Julia. 
 
 "Monsieur Nevere?" asked Trent. "Why, he is a 
 portrait painter." 
 
 "Oh, no, surely not," returned Julia; "for he plays 
 in the orchestra of the Opera." 
 
 "Impossible!" rejoined Madame Nitolsk, who was 
 known to use as many interjections as she had exclama- 
 tions during an evening. Indeed, she had so much delight 
 in the use of these interjections that those who knew her 
 best were pronounced in their assertions that she had 
 
 103
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 been known by a wag who took pains to find out to 
 begin each evening with the first interjection in the list 
 of an English grammar and to use them in their order 
 on each occasion she had need of an interjection, which 
 was often. "Etienne Nevere is a portrait painter of 
 great renown, for I have known him for, lo ! these many 
 years. Four years ago he painted my portrait." 
 
 "Now I beg to add a word," laughed Alverstone, for 
 he was much amused over what he was pleased to term 
 a comedy of errors, though not exactly like that of 
 Shakespeare nevertheless a comedy of errors though 
 in Shakespeare's comedy tnere are two men for one situa- 
 tion, while in this comedy there is one man for two situa- 
 tions. 
 
 "I have visited his studio, and he told me that he is 
 flutist at the Opera and for Maestro Novara and some 
 others, for whom he enjoys playing." 
 
 "Well, well," said Trent, carrying his left hand with 
 the movement which would lay it upon the hilt of his 
 sword a movement which makes of a military man a 
 hero a god in action but the hand found not its sup- 
 port, and went below the point where it would have 
 rested had it not been the custom for the hostess to say 
 to each officer in the full dress of his rank, "Lay down 
 your arms." 
 
 "There !" exclaimed Madame Nitolsk, rising and tak- 
 ing the arm of Alverstone ; "hear that beautiful waltz ;" 
 for floating out from the ballroom came the entrancing 
 strains of a waltz, and she had taken it for granted that 
 she and Alverstone would dance it together. "I know 
 so few persons here, and I am in danger of becoming 
 lonely. We will dance?" 
 
 It was her hope in this way to keep him from Julia 
 Pembroke, for she was certain he would ask the Ameri- 
 can for this dance. She felt it instinctively. 
 
 104
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Alverstone apologized, adding : "I have this^ number 
 with Miss Pembroke." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk's black eyes flashed their angered 
 disappointment. 
 
 Trent saw it, but affected ignorance. Then he asked 
 and had permission to lead Madame Nitolsk through the 
 waltz then playing, with the assurance from Madame 
 Nitolsk as she took his arm to move away: "The honor 
 of the evening lies in a dance with the brave English 
 officer Lieutenant Trent." 
 
 When they had passed out of the conservatory, Julia 
 said : "I am tired of dancing. If you will, I should prefer 
 to sit here quietly and chat with you." 
 
 "As you did with Trent?" asked Alverstone, laugh- 
 ingly, while he seated himself upon the seat where Julia 
 and Trent had spent the time of their waltz. 
 
 "As you please," replied Julia. "We said nothing of 
 a private nature all could have been said with you and 
 Madame Nitolsk present." 
 
 Julia looked at him to see the effect, and she was 
 pleased, for the happiness this bit of truth gave him 
 he did not attempt to hide. He wished her to see it. 
 
 "Lieutenant Trent is a very interesting companion," 
 remarked Alverstone, "for he has a fund of information 
 upon every subject, it would seem." 
 
 Then for a little time both remained quiet. Silence 
 reigned except for the splash of falling water from the 
 alabaster fountain just to their left and behind a bank 
 of American Beauty roses, for the falling water of the 
 fountain made itself heard as it mingled with the water 
 of the basin ; and, too, the sweet, alluring strains of the 
 Strauss waltz stole gently through the foliage of the 
 great tropical plants, and the hundreds of delicately 
 scented flowers of every description, until it reached the 
 
 105
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 American man, seated beside the American young woman, 
 for whom he entertained an experience of richest love. 
 
 "Miss Pembroke, there is but one subject upon which 
 at present I am capable of speaking with you, and upon 
 that subject I must speak." 
 
 Julia, drawing away her hand, for which he had 
 reached, and which he had held for an instant, said: "Mr. 
 Alverstone, I beg of you desist; I fancy I anticipate 
 your intention, and I can not allow you to go further." 
 
 "Why not?" he asked, in hurried breathlessness, for 
 he could not think that a young woman such as her 
 straightforwardness had made him feel her to be would 
 have encouraged him as she had done were she the fiancee 
 of some other man. And Alverstone felt free to continue 
 in the declaration of which he was determined to acquit 
 himself, at this moment, if possible, for Hampton Alver- 
 stone was not a man of faint heart whenever he chose 
 to perform an act, and he had not pursued this idol of 
 his love dream, hoping to find a favorable moment in 
 which to tell all, now to allow himself to be repulsed 
 by the first adverse volley no, indeed, not he! 
 
 "Miss Pembroke, I love you most passionately." 
 
 Julia put up her hand in a desistory manner and 
 turned her face slowly away. 
 
 From the deliberation of this movement of Julia, 
 Alverstone took courage to proceed, for, though he had 
 met with strong rebuff, he began in a most supplicatory 
 manner: "My love you must requite, Miss Pembroke. 
 You and I are Americans of the same rank, and in our 
 own land we shall be far happier together than you can 
 possibly be as a prima donna listen to me, listen to 
 me, and say that you will be mine." Again he reached 
 for her hand, and now raised it, in the act of pressing it 
 to his lips ; but Julia drew it away and put up both her 
 hands, quite dramatically saying: "Do, not, do not." 
 
 1 06
 
 " 'FROM THAT MOMENT WHEN i WAS PERMITTED AN HONORABLE INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO YOU TO YOU THE ONLY WOMAN I HAVE EVER LOVED.' "
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Alverstone seemed to see nothing. For, heedless of 
 any protestation upon the part of Julia, he continued: 
 "Then think of what I am saying, and at some future 
 time, after a period of careful reflection, give me your 
 decision. But, Miss Pembroke, do not forget to consider 
 that I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, and 
 that was when I handed you the music which you dropped 
 on Rue Murillo; that I followed you to London, soon 
 after, crossing the Channel on the same boat with you; 
 that I sat at the table in Hotel Cecil, at London, just 
 where I did and in the position in which I did in order 
 that you must see me, for I asked the chef to place me 
 there; that at the opera, during the singing of Caruso 
 and Melba at Covent Garden, I sat where I feasted my 
 eyes upon you ; that I followed you back to Paris, hoping 
 to see you in the Paris Opera, where I knew Madame 
 Cinati would sing on last evening, for, finding you a 
 table companion of hers at Hotel Cecil, I thought you 
 would be present when the Madame would sing here; 
 that when I saw you a guest in the box with my friend, 
 Lieutenant Trent, I saw the connecting link in the chain 
 of fortunate circumstances leading to an acquaintance 
 with you; that I fled from my seat in the orchestra to 
 meet Trent on the staircase as he was descending. From 
 that moment, when I was permitted an honorable intro- 
 duction to you to you the only woman I have ever 
 loved, you know the rest, and, though it is only some 
 little more than twenty-four hours since that introduction, 
 I can not forego this opportunity of declaring my undying 
 love for you." 
 
 He ceased .speaking and sat looking into Julia's face 
 with a fixed gaze that seemed to draw from her an 
 answer in the affirmative. 
 
 Julia had been deeply moved, as much by the pathos 
 of his eloquent pleading and the touching story of his 
 
 107
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 endeavor to find a right moment of presenting himself 
 as by the wealth of love, the natural sequence of his 
 manly nature, stirred by that powerful emotion for one 
 whom he wished to call his wife. 
 
 She had sat very quiet during the entire time of his 
 speaking perfectly quiet with eyes downcast upon the 
 dainty little fan, which she had moved gently to and fro 
 the while. 
 
 She sat so pensively quiet during the silence follow- 
 ing Alverstone's cessation that this, together with a slight 
 nervousness betrayed by her fingering of the delicate gold 
 chain to which her fan was attached, gave Alverstone 
 hope that he had not pleaded in vain, so he began his 
 conclusion with, "I beg of you, bear constantly in mind 
 that Hampton Alverstone loves Julia Pembroke, and 
 wishes to make her his right, his honorable wife. Will 
 you" 
 
 "Pardon, my friends/' said an excited voice, coming 
 upon them ; "have you seen Madame Nitolsk pass ?" 
 
 "No, we have not," replied Alverstone. 
 
 "I wonder if you would ?" again asked Trent, looking 
 from one to the other, roguishly. "For two Americans to 
 sit in this secluded spot so long means some interest in 
 each other. I fear you might not have seen any one." 
 
 Julia looked up at Trent and smiled. But the warmth 
 of Alverstone's emotion did not escape the quick eye of 
 Trent. 
 
 "What are you doing with that wine?" asked Alver- 
 stone, quickly, not allowing time for Trent to say more. 
 
 "It is for Madame Nitolsk, but I can not find her." 
 
 "Where did you leave her? I thought you were in 
 this dance." 
 
 "We were," said Trent ; "but Madame Nitolsk wished 
 to rest." 
 
 "Is she ill?" again asked Julia. 
 
 108
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "She said she felt faint, and I went to fetch her this 
 wine." 
 
 "Let us go search," suggested Julia. 
 
 After a thorough search, when they had about decided 
 that she must have left the conservatory, Julia, who had 
 gone around what was another secluded nook like that 
 in which she and Alverstone had been sitting, came upon 
 Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 "Oh! Oh! Oh! here is Madame Nitolsk. She is 
 dead !" cried Julia, in a voice of horror. 
 
 "No, she has only fainted," said Trent, coming near 
 and with his left hand lifting her head, while he held 
 the wine to her lips. 
 
 She was seated upon one of the chairs, and her head 
 had fallen to one side and was resting against the high 
 back, while the appearance of the entire body was like 
 that of one out of which every spark of life had gone. 
 
 "There, she is reviving," said Trent, as her eyes 
 opened and she sought each face of the eager, anxious, 
 little group around her, saying: "It is nothing." 
 
 "Miss Pembroke," said an attendant, coming^ up at 
 that moment, "I am sent to say that Madame Cinati is 
 going, and that the Madame will send the carriage for 
 Mademoiselle later." 
 
 "Please tell Madame Cinati that I shall go with 
 Madame," she replied. 
 
 Then, taking Madame Nitolsk's hand between both 
 of hers, Julia pressed it tenderly, saying: "My dear 
 Madame, I am forced to go, so I bid you good night, and 
 I wish you a speedy recovery." 
 
 "Thank you, dear ; you are a lovely girl. Good-night, 
 Miss Pembroke." 
 
 While speaking the manner of Madame Nitolsk was 
 charming and her voice low and tender. Not a tremor 
 of the nervous chill then shaking her was visible, either 
 
 109
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 in the touch of the hand or in the tone of her voice. 
 She opened her large black eyes big and wide and fas- 
 tened them on Julia, gazing all the while with an intens- 
 ity that was fierce, until Julia, not realizing just what was 
 happening, seemed electrified, and each woman looked 
 into the eyes of the other woman until Alverstone, who 
 was a man versed in the ways of the world, and now 
 understood Madame Nitolsk and what she was doing, 
 took Julia by the arm, saying: "Miss Pembroke, par^ 
 don ; great prima donnas like Madame Cinati are not 
 pleased to be kept waiting." 
 
 The spell was broken.- Madame Nitolsk closed her 
 eyes, and Julia, still dazed, looked toward Trent and said : 
 "Good-night, Lieutenant Trent; I have had a delightful 
 evening." Then she and Alverstone walked away. 
 
 "I shall attend you to your carriage, if I may," said 
 Alverstone. 
 
 "Thank you; it is quite agreeable, I assure you," 
 answered Julia/ 
 
 Together they said good night to the Lord and Lady 
 Trent, and on the way out they passed numerous per- 
 sons who knew and loved Julia, and who made many 
 friendly remarks concerning her. 
 
 "Ah, Mademoiselle Pembroke, you are not leaving so 
 soon," said the Princesse de Grancourt, as Julia was pass- 
 ing near to the Princess, who was chatting gaily with a 
 French cavalry officer and his lady. 
 
 "Yes, Princess; it is the pleasure of Madame Cinati 
 to go now, and I go with the Madame." 
 
 "But the dance is not over, and souper! What a sacri- 
 fice of your social pleasures you dear, dear song-birds 
 make ! No doubt it is wise, but I am sorry to see you go." 
 
 This the Princesse de Grancourt accompanied with the 
 prettiest of French manners, the sparkling diamond star 
 in her hair the while vying with the sparkling brilliancy 
 
 no
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 of her beautiful black eyes, for the Princesse de Gran- 
 court was known to have a very handsome pair of eyes. 
 
 Julia smilingly bowed, and she and Alverstone'left 
 the salon through a long line of admirers. As they went 
 from the Princesse de Grancourt, the Princess was heard 
 to remark to the French cavalry officer and his lady that 
 she was surprised beyond measure to know an American 
 girl could be so well-bred, and when the officer dared 
 to suggest that this advancement on the part of Miss 
 Pembroke in the matter of cultivation might be the result 
 of her long stay in Paris, the Princess objected that 
 she had little time for manners; for those graces in 
 matters of etiquette savoir-vivre were not learned in 
 a few years; indeed, they were not learned at all, she 
 thought. And the Princess defended her position with 
 the statement that only through a long line of polite 
 ancestry are the graces of true cultivation at all possible. 
 
 "But this Miss Pembroke pleases you?" ventured the 
 cavalry officer, "and she has been in Paris only a few 
 years." 
 
 "Yes, she does please me, really, she does. I should 
 take her for one of the ladies of our most exclusive set." 
 Then she continued: "She is simply perfect in manners 
 and bearing all. I laughed when Lady Trent told me 
 that she had a nice little American girl who was per- 
 fectly well-bred and whom she wished me to know." 
 
 "And this little American girl surprised you?" again 
 asked the cavalry officer, pleasedly. 
 
 "Yes, she did ; I found her all Lady Trent had said of 
 her." 
 
 "Ah ! my dear Princess, Americans have a cultivation 
 all their own, and to enjoy their cultivation one must be 
 an American," said the officer. 
 
 "Well," replied the Princesse de Grancourt, "I shall 
 never be an American. I love Europe I love my own 
 
 in
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 France, and, above all, I love our exclusive European 
 society." 
 
 After the partings, as are usual on such occasions, 
 the carriage passed quickly off, drawn by the splendid 
 thoroughbreds, and became one of many dashing away 
 up Champs Elysees, with the difference, however, that 
 within this carriage rode two of those golden-throated 
 songsters, whom every reigning queen of a realm can not 
 but acknowledge her superior ; for each queen reigns over 
 her own special realm, while the song queen reigns over 
 all realms all lands reigns the acknowledged queen of 
 song, and song is a universal language a language of 
 the world of the universe. 
 
 Alverstone stood looking after the carriage until it 
 had gone out of sight, then he turned and reentered the 
 mansion. 
 
 When Madame Nitolsk and Trent had gone for the 
 waltz the Madame had suspicioned that Julia and Alver- 
 stone had not entered the ballroom, and she soon affected 
 fatigue and expressed a desire to go into the conserva- 
 tory. She chose the way that led near the seat where she 
 and Trent had left Julia and Alverstone, and, hearing 
 Alverstone's voice, she soon decided on a seat not far 
 from them, yet far enough removed to keep them in 
 ignorance of their presence. Then she had asked Trent 
 to fetch her some wine. 
 
 As soon as he was gone she crept, soft-footed as a 
 panther, winding her sinuous form in and out among the 
 plants, now stealing through banks of roses, now gliding 
 noiselessly as a venomous serpent about to spring, until 
 within sufficiently close proximity to the loving pair in 
 their little corner their retreat of bliss and then she 
 did what her serpentine movements would warrant her 
 capable of doing peered through the leaves and saw 
 
 112
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the guileless pair saw Alverstone reach for Julia's 
 hand saw Julia reclaim that hand saw the force of his 
 passionate love, and heard, as distinctly as if it had been 
 meant for the eavesdropper that declaration of love, 
 with the preliminaries his finding Julia, when he had 
 picked up the music, and how he had followed her all. 
 Nothing had escaped that hidden eye and hidden ear, and 
 she had felt the blow and had staggered beneath it. 
 
 She had recoiled within herself, to deliberate, and 
 had tried to retreat, but in her anger had missed her way 
 and had allowed herself to faint, as it seemed that she 
 might thus more effectually hide her true condition, for 
 her agitation was uncontrollable. Julia had found her 
 in this place when she, Trent and Alverstone had gone 
 in search of her. 
 
 When Alverstone was putting Julia carefully into the 
 carriage of Madame Cinati, above on a balcony over- 
 looking the court just over the massive stone arch of 
 the entrance way stood Madame Nitolsk. She was 
 alone, for she had come out upon the balcony just as 
 Julia and Alverstone had gone down the great staircase 
 leading into the vestibule, and she had a morbid desire 
 to see the happy pair appear on the pavement, as they 
 crossed it, for Julia to enter the carriage. 
 
 Again the Fates were with Madame Nitolsk, for 
 though she heard no word, nor saw no grand strokes, 
 she saw enough of the pretty little attentions, caressingly 
 given, on the part of Alverstone, as he carefully helped 
 Julia in and arranged the folds of her dress, lest they 
 be fastened by the closing of the door yes, she saw 
 every tender inclination and they were many of his 
 manly form as he bent, now this way, now that, until the 
 carriage sped away and she had seen him stand and 
 look after it. And how had he stood ! in the attitude 
 of a worshiper, looking toward his beloved shrine. And
 
 AN .AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 she saw a deep sigh, sighed heavily, as he left the spot 
 where he stood in the entrance. 
 
 Had Alverstone looked above he would have seen a 
 pair of fierce black eyes, blazing with unquenchable fire 
 of destruction for some one who at that moment had 
 angered Madame Nitolsk, and for one of her dark com- 
 plexion that threatening eye foreshowed the darkest evil. 
 
 She would know this young American singer. She 
 would make her an intimate friend. She would know 
 her at once, for she knew that as yet she had not accepted 
 the love Alverstone had thrown in such prodigality at 
 her feet. She would pay this old music teacher any 
 price for an hour, just before or just after the time of 
 Julia Pembroke's lesson, and then she would meet her at 
 the master's and every one knew, she told herself, that 
 Americans are so common; she was certain there could 
 be no hindrance to a speedy and a close intimacy with 
 this common American girl, who threatened her with 
 the doom of a neglected woman. She acknowledged to 
 herself that she loved this American man, and she had 
 loved him from the first time her eyes had met his, on 
 that eventful evening when her husband had introduced 
 him into their Calcutta home. And now, this very eve- 
 ning, she had heard this man say words of undying love 
 within the conservatory but into the ears of a rival, and 
 not into those of herself were they spoken. 
 
 She had thought out the plan ; she had resolved, 
 and now she would act. She stamped her foot angrily, 
 then started suddenly as all who love deeds of dark- 
 ness always do for something had touched her upon 
 the shoulder; but it was only a leaf from some foliage 
 upon a balcony above the one on which she stood, and 
 on its downward course it had touched her and she had 
 started as she should, and as she would have done, had 
 she seen the end. 
 
 114
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The next afternoon at about the hour of three Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk rang at the Signor Novara's and was soon 
 admitted by the liveried butler, who put the customary 
 question for all strangers, "Have you an appointment 
 with the maestro ?" 
 
 "Yes, I am a new pupil," she answered. 
 
 "Very well ; enter if you please," and, throwing open 
 the door leading into the salon, he announced Madame 
 Nitolsk. 
 
 At the end of the salon, which was three rooms, open- 
 ing one into the next behind, was the maestro. He was 
 seated at a grand piano, and at mention of the name he 
 arose, and, coming forward, bowed and said: "Will you 
 come back to the piano with me?" 
 
 "Thank you," said Madame Nitolsk; "I shall cer- 
 tainly do so." 
 
 No preliminaries were necessary, for Madame Nitolsk 
 had sent a letter to Signor Novara by special messenger, 
 who had brought her by return trip the answer to her 
 request that he permit her to enter his school, and he 
 had told her to come at this hour. 
 
 "Ah!" said Madame Nitolsk; "I am overanxious to 
 study with you. I should like to begin at once. I do not 
 wish to lose a minute." 
 
 "Indeed!" said the master, turning and riveting his 
 gaze upon her. 
 
 He was a man to whom the ear was an infallible 
 guide. He had spent fifty years in listening to the tones 
 of the human voice, and the slightest shading of a tone 
 meant a corresponding shade of character. "He turned
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 and fastened his keen, old eyes upon the beautiful woman 
 and tried to see something upon the face that might 
 strengthen his conviction that she was not as noble in 
 soul as beautiful in body, but he was foiled, and very 
 reluctantly he told himself that for once his judgment 
 had deceived him. 
 
 He urged upon himself that perhaps he was growing 
 old. Had he been acquainted with the science of facial 
 lines he had read exactly that of which his ear had given 
 alarm, for Madame Nitolsk was not on guard just then. 
 
 Her delight at finding herself so graciously received 
 by Julia's master was unbounded. She now felt that 
 her way to intimacy with the American was clear and 
 very easy of access. Her real self was markedly shown 
 upon her face in gloating over the picture of her certain 
 destruction of the love between the man for whom she 
 entertained her wild passion and the woman whom that 
 man loved loved as every noble American man loves 
 the woman of his choice. 
 
 "Here, Madame," said the master, sitting down at the 
 piano. "Come stand here, beside me, and I will test your 
 voice." 
 
 As the maestro looked up at Madame Nitolsk he 
 paused, for the face, though beautiful to a fault, held 
 some strange force hidden somewhere, either behind the 
 soft, velvety skin of matchless beauty or in some feature 
 of that face of unnatural placidity. 
 
 He could not say what it was ; he only knew that he 
 felt disturbed. He looked down again at the keyboard, 
 and the strong old face was thoughtful he seemed hesi- 
 tating. 
 
 At last he looked up quickly, and spoke: 
 
 "Are you very serious, Madame? For, if you are not, 
 I do not care to test your voice. To say the least, an 
 inartistic pupil is tiresome ; but to me an inartistic person, 
 
 116
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 whether pupil, or not, has no claim upon my time, for 
 I am an artist I have a short life, at longest, to accom- 
 plish all I wish to do for this great art of song, and I 
 do not want any one to take my golden hours, unless 
 he is in great earnest very, very serious." 
 
 "Oh, my dear maestro, dismiss all fears of my disin- 
 terestedness. I am very sincere, indeed." 
 
 "What method have you followed?" 
 
 "According to your beautiful Bel Canto method, I 
 can not sing at all this is why I have come to you. I 
 heard Madame Cinati sing last evening, and, too, I 
 learned that Mademoiselle Pembroke came to you. I 
 decided that you might be able to do something for my 
 voice yet. I have studied much, though with various 
 teachers, and with teachers of diverse methods. Never- 
 theless, I beg of you accept me. If I prove unworthy, 
 dismiss me, and as some compensation for the time 
 wasted upon me I shall present you with precious jewels 
 of great value." 
 
 "Oh! la! la! la!" thundered the maestro, jumping 
 to his feet and rushing around the room in a frenzy of 
 excitement. 
 
 "How dare you insult art like that ! How dare you ! 
 Don't you know that all the jewels in the world can not 
 repay a master for the time he has stolen from his art 
 to teach an insincere pupil? Can you not understand? 
 Why I toil by day and by night for my art. I love my 
 art. I love my art, I want no money I want only art 
 art art !" 
 
 "Ah! you are great! you are great!" exclaimed 
 Madame Nitolsk, putting her palms together, and as if in 
 adoration. "I will prove to you that I am as earnest in 
 the study of song as any pupil you have ever had." 
 
 This she said, accompanied by such grace, by such 
 beauty of manner, that the maestro's rage subsided and 
 
 117
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 he smiled the smile overspread an honest face, one over 
 which the soul's light shone with the halo of inspiration. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk, standing in the attitude of meekest 
 submission and immobile as a marble statue, saw the 
 smile read the open soul upon the beautiful, old counte- 
 nance and inwardly chuckled with ecstatic joy over the 
 victory she had wrought upon this strong, noble man. 
 
 What cared she for his art? She was one of those 
 souls who hated harmony in any form, yet one of those 
 unnatural souls capable of making harmony or discord 
 at will. 
 
 The maestro again went to his place at the piano, 
 and, striking G on the staff, said : "Give that sound on 
 the open Italian A. Don't force sing easily." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk, who had stepped close to the side 
 of the piano, and facing the maestro, proceeded to follow 
 as closely as possible the dictations given her, for she 
 was extremely anxious to impress the old master that 
 she was serious in the matter. 
 
 "No," said the master; "that tone is veiled. Hold 
 the tip of the tongue against the lower front teeth. You 
 let your tongue slip back, and that is the reason your 
 tone is veiled." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk took the note again. "How strange !" 
 she exclaimed, when she had finished. "My teacher 
 taught me to hold the tip of the tongue against the 
 cord at the base of the tongue." 
 
 "You said your teacher's name was ?" 
 
 "Signer Vinola," said Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 "I don't know him." 
 
 The master tried to fix the tip of his tongue in this 
 manner, but soon desisted with a shake of his head. 
 "Whoever he is, that is barbarous no teaching at all. 
 But I am testing your voice, not giving instructions. Let 
 us continue." 
 
 118
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 He struck middle C and prepared to test her chest 
 register, going down the scale to G below the staff, then 
 up to the F above middle C. Every tone made by Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk was deep, mellow and quite perfect, showing 
 that in the chest notes at least she was not a novice. The 
 maestro was pleased, but said nothing. 
 
 Preparatory to leading to the head notes, he struck 
 A above middle C. "Now/' said he, "take that tone and 
 give la, si, do, re, and continue on up in fourths until I 
 say stop." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk put forth her best effort, but the 
 head notes were worse than had been the medium notes, 
 for they were thin and swallowed. 
 
 She strained, forced and strangled so desperately to 
 reach G above the staff that the master was irritated 
 beyond endurance, for nothing partaking of the nature 
 of forcing was recognized as music by the master. 
 
 .He had borne with her struggling E and F, but he 
 could not listen longer. 
 
 "Enough," he cried; "you look like a comic sketch 
 of a tenore robusto. You are choking yourself. The 
 higher one goes the lower the head must incline. A 
 down chin on high notes is the secret of all their exquis- 
 ite beauty." 
 
 "But Madame Cinati holds her head high," quickly 
 interrupted Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 "That is true," replied the master; "some do, espe- 
 cially coloraturas, when executing high,, florid passages, 
 such as the Bell Song from 'Lakme/ which you heard 
 her sing," and as he spoke his fingers mechanically picked 
 the melody, which translates so well the tinkling of little 
 bells. "But if Madame Cinati had held her head down 
 her high notes would have been sweet and resonant 
 instead of simply clear and penetrating." Striking D, 
 E, F sharp, he said : "Again, please, sing re, mi, fa," for 
 
 119
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the master used only the European method of singing 
 notes the method in which the do always remains at C 
 the immovable do. 
 
 "Use the same broad A you did in chest and medium. 
 Be sure," he added, with admonitory emphasis, "be sure 
 to hold down your chin." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk took the dictation and sang. It was 
 truly wonderful how the tones had improved with only 
 the dropping of the chin. 
 
 "Now," said the master, in a pleased tone, "that is 
 good ; your voice is very steady." 
 
 Turning from the piano, he sat as if lost in thought. 
 Then, stroking his short beard, he began: "You are a 
 contralto; you have a very beautiful voice. To-day there 
 are few contraltos. In my day there were some, but 
 that is past. Your voice has been misused. I see your 
 teacher has taught you to direct the voice against the 
 soft palate. With the soft palate as the point of aim, the 
 voice is without resonance. In the drawing-room it 
 would be a bellow, and were you to sing at the Opera 
 or at La Scala you would sound like a child singing 
 from the bottom of a well. There is no penetration of 
 tone in such placement of the voice. To possess the 
 ringing and the carrying qualities, the voice, especially 
 the female voice and the high tenor, must be directed 
 against a. hard surface, and the soft palate will not serve 
 this purpose the soft palate is soft." 
 
 "Possible!" exclaimed Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 So greatly had the master interested her in the science 
 of voice production that for the time being she forgot 
 the motive which had led to her present course of study. 
 
 "Signor Vinola told me that with the voice directed 
 against the soft palate there was music soft, liquid 
 sound as he expressed it. Furthermore, he said that 
 
 1 20
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 with the sound directed against the front of the head 
 the voice was shrill and like car whistles." 
 
 The master made no direct reply to her statement. 
 
 "There are few singers of to-day who have made a 
 name for themselves who do not follow, in point of aim, 
 the teachings of the Bel Canto." 
 
 "Indeed?" inquired Madame Nitolsk, with a genuine 
 surprised interrogation. "Madame Sembrich, Madame 
 Melba, Monsieur Caruso and Monsieur Plangon?" 
 
 "Ah, yes; every one you have mentioned. They are 
 the perfection. And, too, there are others. Listen well 
 and I will tell you what few teachers will the appoggio, 
 or the placement of the voice. In the medium register 
 it is against the front of the hard palate; in the chest 
 register it is directed against the front of the hard pal- 
 ate, with the necessary borrowing of resonance from the 
 chest cavity; in the head register it is against the front 
 of the head, here," and the master placed his left hand 
 about an inch back from where the heavy growth of hair 
 joined the forehead. "It is never directed against the 
 forehead. Do you understand what I mean by the direc- 
 tion of the voice?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do. You mean the conception held in the 
 brain must direct the voice against" 
 
 "Yes, yes," interrupted the maestro ; "that is right. I 
 see you understand something about the voice." 
 
 Then turning his eyes upon her, he scrutinized her 
 closely. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk saw and read his thoughts. She 
 knew he doubted her sincerity, and before he had time to 
 express his thoughts she spoke. 
 
 "When I was some younger, before I was married, I 
 thought to become an opera singer, but now I wish to 
 study for art's sake alone. I am too old to become a 
 professional, but I want to sing well." 
 
 121
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "How old are you twenty-seven?" asked the master. 
 
 "No, Signer; I am just twenty-five." 
 
 "Ah ! that is young. You are only a baby. Can not 
 study for the opera! Of course, you can, if you want 
 to do so. But you have interrupted me. Let me see; I 
 was testing your registers. Oh, yes, I remember now; 
 I was telling you that you are a contralto. You have 
 many defects to overcome. It will be at least three years 
 before I can say your voice is very good. Come, let me 
 see if you have any flexibility of voice." 
 
 He tried her on turns, triplets and other ornaments, 
 but there was no agility. After trying the plain scale, to 
 ascertain the extreme limit of her voice, he said: "Your 
 compass is two octaves, from G below the staff to G above 
 the staff. Very good, but how your chin swells. I can see 
 it from here. You let your tongue slip back down into 
 your throat. The chin must always be soft in singing or 
 the timbre will be guttural. Now a little song; I want 
 to see your style." 
 
 "Will the 'Cancion de la Heurta' do?" inquired 
 Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 "What is the composer's name?" 
 
 "Don Sedeiia," she answered; "it is a little Spanish 
 song." 
 
 The master, shaking his head, said : "I do not know it. 
 Signor Vinola gave it to you, I suppose." And, rising 
 from the piano, he prepared to seat himself near by and 
 listen. 
 
 "But I can not sing without an accompaniment," 
 objected Madame Nitolsk, plaintively. 
 
 The master shrugged his shoulders and said, impa- 
 tiently: "Well, then, sing something else, 'Voi che 
 sapete' did Vinola ever teach you that?" 
 
 At the same time he struck the chords of the prelude, 
 which in its treble follows the melody. 
 
 122
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Ah! yes, I know it well. It was the first song 
 Signer Vinola gave me." 
 
 "Madame Nitolsk," said the master, in a very encour- 
 aging voice, for he hoped to disarm her of any fearful- 
 ness, especially since he desired to know the exact style 
 in which she would sing this very expressive little 
 song, "you will sing as easily as you would were 
 you singing for a few sympathetic friends. Do not 
 attempt to follow any directions which I have given you 
 as the proper manner in which to sing. Sing as Signor 
 Vinola taught you/' 
 
 The master finished the prelude, and Madame Nitolsk 
 began to sing. 
 
 Though she sang the notes very well her compass 
 permitting this, without the least effort ; in fact, the tones, 
 as tones, were good when she bad finished the master 
 shook his head, thoughtfully, for some moments, as if he 
 were incredulous. 
 
 "Naturally you have an exquisite organ," he began; 
 but where is your heart? I never heard any one sing 
 like that. Surely you have none. Do you speak Italian ?" 
 
 "Ah! si," she quickly answered; "Signor il Maestro 
 parla egli italiano." 
 
 "Si, Signora," responded the master; "that is my 
 native tongue." 
 
 And they continued to speak in Italian instead of 
 French, as they had been doing. 
 
 "Then why do you sing 'Voi chc sapete che cosa e 
 amore' 'you who know what is love' like you were a 
 vicious mad dog? When you sang 'amore' 'love' you 
 looked like an executioner. Ugh ! what a face ! Your 
 eyes flashed as if you wanted to kill me." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk let a soft laugh escape her, for he 
 had been the first person whom she had known to read 
 her as =h? \v;i<. 
 
 f 
 
 123
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Madame, I repeat, you have an exquisite organ. Of 
 course, you have habits which must be broken, and your 
 voice must be developed. But you have no more heart 
 than a stone, and I tell you conscientiously that if this 
 is your soul, you can never hope to sing beautifully. A 
 singer, when singing, can hide nothing of the inner self. 
 When a woman has not cceur de femme, that is, when 
 the heart does not speak through each note, no matter 
 how perfect the organ, she will never be an artist. The 
 test is over. Do you still want to study? Do you want 
 to sing?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, maestro; do take me!" pleaded Madame 
 Nitolsk. 
 
 Just then the doorbell rang. The master was absorbed 
 in his roll-book, which he jokingly called his student 
 police book. 
 
 "Ah, I find I can have you at nine A. M.," he said. 
 
 "Impossible!" she exclaimed, for she was not in the 
 habit of responding to any call at that hour, much less 
 to the call of a duty. 
 
 The master continued to look down the list and 
 spoke, half audibly, yet seemingly to himself: "Miss 
 Pembroke at half-past nine, Lafoyer at ten and Mon- 
 sieur" 
 
 "Oh ! I will cancel, my engagement of to-morrow and 
 come to you at nine," interrupted Madame Nitolsk, in a 
 highly excited manner. 
 
 Her agitation was impossible of suppression, for now 
 she saw the climax to her design in the study of song. 
 She had not dared to hope for so speedy an arrival of 
 the longed-for moment, that moment when she and Julia 
 Pembroke should be in intimate association. She would 
 for she knew her subtle powers make this American 
 girl trust her, and then This delicious bit of scheming 
 
 124
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 was broken off by the butler, who at that moment pushed 
 open the door to admit Miss Pembroke, for this was 
 Julia's hour. 
 
 "Viens mignonne," cried the master. 
 
 Julia crossed quickly to where the maestro stood and 
 pressed the extended hand in both of hers. 
 
 During the past six years he had been to her a friend 
 a more than friend a father, and she had trusted this 
 noble man implicitly. 
 
 "Are you ready ?" The voice was tenderly affectionate. 
 
 As he looked into the face of Julia he was startled, 
 for he saw something there which was entirely new to 
 him. What could it be! There was a sublime, yet 
 earthly something, which clung to her face and seemed 
 to be a part of it. His observation became more keenly 
 inquisitive. No trace of illness was there. What could 
 it be ? Ah ! he knew ; it was a mellowness, caused by 
 her disappointment; for none knew better than he how 
 bitterly she regretted the postponement of her debut 
 her appearance as Lucia, on Christmas eve. This had 
 been the goal for which she had worked, for which she 
 had hoped, and which had been just within her grasp. 
 Yes, he had it now. 
 
 "Are you sad your old teacher told you to study 
 another year?" he asked quietly, almost reverently. 
 
 "No, maestro ; I am glad. I shall never be happy to 
 leave," and she bent and kissed with affectionate tender- 
 ness the delicate, though strong-set hand of the master. 
 
 "May I stay for Miss Pembroke's lesson?" broke in 
 Madame Nitolsk, who had been a silent and very will- 
 ing spectator of the very pretty scene enacted between 
 fond master and loving pupil. 
 
 "If you wish," replied the maestro. 
 
 125
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Ah! you, Madame Nitolsk!" said Julia, turning 
 around, for she had thought the woman seated there a 
 stranger. 
 
 Signer Novara never introduced his pupils to one 
 another nor to others not pupils before he had asked 
 permission to do so. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk was the personification of joy, and, 
 quickly enfolding Julia in one of her warm smiles, said : 
 "I account it a bit of excellent good fortune that I am 
 granted the privilege of listening to you sing. Last night 
 I heard much in praise of your voice." 
 
 "A friend of yours, Julia ?" inquired the master. 
 
 "Yes, maestro ; I met her last evening at Lady Trent's 
 soiree." 
 
 "Ah! I see. Did you bring the song I told you to?" 
 And while speaking the master played here and there upon 
 the keys. 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur; here it is." 
 
 Julia unrolled the piece of music, which was a vocalise, 
 and placed it upon the piano. 
 
 While Julia sang, Madame Nitolsk looked at her and 
 recalled her own dark reflections regarding Julia. She 
 wondered how she, the Madame Nitolsk, of such great 
 wealth, could be disturbed by that simple, unaffected, 
 unassuming, young woman. She heard nothing. She sat 
 and read avariciously Julia's every expression, every 
 movement, every motion, but could not pick a single flaw 
 in the character sketch she made of her, whereby she 
 might justify herself for her jealousy and for her venom. 
 Then she ceased to see objectively. She was wrapped in 
 the solitude of her own imaginations. But though she 
 saw and heard little of her surroundings, she saw and 
 heard much subjectively. She remembered what Alver- 
 stone had said to Julia when she was hidden behind the 
 flowers in the conservatory. She had seen Julia, and 
 
 126
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 had seen how beautifully cold she was, though the tones 
 of her voice had rung true to love. Yes, she remembered 
 this and more, for she had heard all that passed between 
 Julia and Alverstone. 
 
 Writhing inwardly, under the scorpion's sting, she 
 tried to smile at Julia, who stood facing her. She vaguely 
 heard the trills, the scales, the arpeggios, some long caden- 
 zas, the caressing melody of a vocalise. She heard the mas- 
 ter's voice break in every now and then "Your breath 
 is jerky. Your mouth is too wide open," some other such 
 corrections, and frequently a "brava." 
 
 Within herself a terrible battle was waging. She felt 
 triumphant, then, again, vanquished. 
 
 A loud chord on the piano recalled her to the realities 
 of life. She laughed at herself and her folly; then she 
 dreamed again, and there was a hand-to-hand skirmish 
 in her brain, and it is sometimes more interesting to view 
 an imaginary struggle than to view the smallness of true 
 action. 
 
 Then the devil came and spoke to her, for this one 
 was a possibility, this which she was cogitating. 
 
 "Brava ! brava !" cried the master. 
 
 This again recalled Madame Nitolsk, but she did not 
 laugh this time ; instead, she shut her teeth and her eyes 
 contracted, as she stared at the singer. 
 
 "Lo, Hear the Gentle Lark" Julia had begun to sing 
 that simple story, told in notes, of the gay, careless heart 
 of a modest brown bird a lark. 
 
 As Julia sang, the lark was in her throat, but 
 her voice told more than a mere vocal race. It was a 
 divine song, for something was playing at the harp strings 
 of her heart, and a tender ether whispered in at her ear 
 whispered the dawn of love to her awakening soul. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk was not dreaming now ; she was 
 fully awakened and in the fullest possession of her powers, 
 
 127
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 but as Julia left the melody and sang the half-cadenza 
 Madame Nitolsk again looked in at her own thoughts 
 and forgot where she was, but not who she was. 
 
 As the song went on, the velocity, when nearing the 
 climax, became marvelous, and the thoughts of Madame 
 Nitolsk sped on, but not out. They were making a whirl- 
 pool in her brain, and she stood alone, very small in the 
 center, as the surge circled around her. There were many 
 voices, which sang wild, discordant snatches ; they were 
 mocking her, they were twisting around her, they were 
 trying to crush her, to sink her. 
 
 Then, half dazed, she heard Julia laughing, but in 
 reality it was only the repeated thirds detached, and not 
 a laugh. 
 
 The whirlpool raced on, and all the voices shrieked in 
 chorus "You are jealous." Then they all laughed at 
 once. Far down, and very near her heart, a small voice, 
 with a tone like the sharp blade of a knife, said : "Alver- 
 stone does not love you ; he never did and never will. He 
 loves Miss Pembroke and she loves him." Then every- 
 thing stopped and she awoke. 
 
 The piano was not playing, neither was Julia singing. 
 The master was speaking, but not to Julia, for both mas- 
 ter and pupil were looking toward the door. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk turned and looked, too; she saw 
 Monsieur Nevere bowing low, and heard him say : "Par- 
 don, maestro, a thousand pardons," and then behind 
 Nevere, a little to his left, she saw no impossible one 
 bowing as if entranced. Was she dreaming? Was this 
 only a hideous semblance of a reality? It seemed far off. 
 Now she heard Nevere say: "My friend, Mr. Alverstone, 
 he begs to come and hear" 
 
 "Yes, I know, I understand," said the master, inter- 
 rupting Nevere. "Sit down, Monsieur Alverstone ; please 
 excuse my perforced rudeness. This is a lesson hour." 
 
 128
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Alverstone looked at Julia and smiled. Madame 
 Nitolsk saw and read what was revealed in that smile. 
 
 Julia winningly returned the silent greeting, but said 
 nothing, for she was standing on the rostrum, with her 
 music upon the music rack before her. 
 
 Alverstone was satisfied with the recognition shown 
 him by Julia, for he knew now that she was not resentful 
 toward him for his sudden and persistent expressions of 
 love for her. He turned to go to the seat indicated by 
 the maestro, when he saw a pair of flashing eyes riveted 
 upon him. He had not seen that a third person was in 
 the room, when he and Nevere entered, but he was very 
 sensible of the fact now. Pausing an instant only to 
 regain his self-possession, he passed over to Madame 
 Nitolsk, instead of taking the seat he had intended taking. 
 
 "Ah! Madame Nitolsk, you here to study?" said 
 Alverstone, and he took a small chair close to the sofa, 
 upon which Madame Nitolsk sat, and in enough prox- 
 imity to speak easily with the Madame. 
 
 "No doubt, you think it a trifle odd," said Madame 
 Nitolsk, with a soft laugh. "Very odd perhaps that I 
 should be here, that I" 
 
 "Silence, Madame," shouted the maestro, rising and 
 stamping his foot; "this is a serious studio, not an idle 
 drawing-room. If you wish to converse, there is the 
 reception room." 
 
 Although the few words of the little chit-chat had 
 been carried on in almost inaudible tones, the low mur- 
 mur was not permissible by the master. 
 
 At the reception of -Lady Trent Alverstone had 
 learned from Julia the name of her vocal instructor, and 
 that Nevere was her flutist. During the ride home that 
 night he was busy with his thoughts, arranging and re^ 
 arranging, finding no rest until he arrived at the satisfac- 
 
 129
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 tory conclusion as to how he might meet Julia at Signer 
 Novara's. He would see Nevere on the morrow and try to 
 accompany him on a visit to the master's, where he would 
 surely meet Julia. 
 
 On the next day, under pretext of great love for the 
 ensemble of the voice and flute, he had made known his 
 desire to Nevere. He had feared that if he should specify 
 the Signer Novara, Nevere might easily suspicion that the 
 American man might be overfond of the American sing- 
 er ; and, too, since the love affair of Etienne Nevere had 
 proven so barren a waste, Nevere might feel it his duty 
 to keep him away from like temptations. Alverstone, 
 fearing Nevere, whom he knew to be very wise in judging 
 of actions, had only expressed his desire in a nonchalant 
 way. Still he saw the hopelessness of his prospects in 
 meeting Julia unless he should be able to do so through 
 the medium of his new friend Etienne Nevere, 
 
 On that morning when Alverstone had been ushered 
 into the presence of Etienne Nevere and had expressed 
 his hope to hear Nevere play for some singer, Nevere 
 had given him a glance and then answered : "Come along 
 with me now. I am going to play for an American. You 
 will enjoy this, I know, for she has an extraordinary 
 voice." 
 
 Alverstone did not know Etienne Nevere, but Etienne 
 Nevere knew him, and, what was of vastly more conse- 
 quence, had Alverstone been aware of the same, Nevere 
 had read the meaning of the facial twitchings, which 
 told of the golden chain of love that bound Alverstone 
 a captive to some one. Though not a curious person, 
 Nevere meant to know who that captor was. 
 
 "The lesson lasts but fifteen minutes," said Nevere, 
 by the way of apologetic explanation for his nervous- 
 ness, "and the maestro is as punctual as clockwork. I 
 
 130
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 dare not be a moment late. Every one reports there 
 on time." 
 
 Alverstone had feared to inquire the name of the 
 singer; nevertheless he had gone willingly, glad to find 
 himself on the way to the scene of Julia's daily life. And 
 now, in the joy of this supreme moment, he failed to 
 conceal the happiness which he felt. 
 
 Of the four within the room, Julia was the least able 
 to see him. Madame Nitolsk gave Alverstone her undi- 
 vided attention. The master and Nevere were so placed 
 that their time was divided between duties and obser- 
 vation of Alverstone, whom both regarded for reasons 
 appealing to each. Nevere was alive to the impression 
 Julia made upon Alverstone, and the master, though not 
 gifted in mind reading as was Nevere, yet felt uneasi- 
 ness lest this young American might have some hidden 
 purpose in coming some design upon the artistic life 
 of his "baby pupil," as he caressingly termed Julia. His 
 usually benign countenance often gave evidence of this 
 inward commotion this fear of scented danger. Every 
 now and then he looked inquisitively over his glasses at 
 Alverstone, then at Julia, then at Madame Nitolsk, and 
 then he would say to himself: "No, it is not for Julia; 
 this young man has not come for Julia." 
 
 From the flushed condition of Madame Nitolsk's face 
 he judged that it was she who had drawn this young 
 stranger hither. Then, too, he told himself, that since 
 Julia had been with him for the past six years, and had 
 never had any one meet her before, it was unkind to 
 think her guilty of so flagrant a violation of his rules. 
 For Julia understood there was nothing so displeasing 
 to her master as having listeners present during the les- 
 son hours. 
 
 Only at rests could Julia think of aught but her song. 
 It was a very difficult song, but especially difficult when
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 sung for an exacting master, whose unerring ear was 
 keenly arive to the slightest error in the nice shading of 
 a tone. But when she found herself in the enjoyment 
 of a relaxation, afforded by a moment of rest, her mind 
 took on pleasant thoughts of Alverstone. She knew the 
 secret thread by which he had found her bower of mel- 
 ody, and this thought communicated its roseate tint to 
 her cheeks. 
 
 Alverstone, whose eyes never lifted from Julia, saw 
 the color and also saw the thought in the modest glance, 
 which, simultaneously with the rising glow, she gave 
 him. It was only a glance, but it was sufficient for each 
 to understand that each understood the mutual regard 
 each had for the other. 
 
 Wicked Cupid ! how many great careers in philosophy, 
 in medicine, in law, in theology, in art, in every commend- 
 able walk of life, haxe you checked, if not entirely 
 destroyed, in your wild, madcap career ! 
 
 There is no such word as fail for this god of love, 
 if ever he succeeds in getting his subjects to cast the 
 fateful glance. It is wise to attempt no trifling with 
 Cupid. Only earnest contestants for the prizes offered by 
 the clever little cherub should enter the lists. 
 
 She sang again, but the breath was insufficient for 
 the phrase, and the master called out: "That breath was 
 taken too quickly ; it was far from enough to sustain that 
 phrase. Try it again." 
 
 Julia knew the cause of the failure, and nobly deter- 
 mined to recall her thoughts and give her mind wholly 
 to the maestro and to her song, for she knew that she 
 had allowed herself to divide her attention between Alver- 
 stone and the song. 
 
 "Take the same phrase again," said the master ; "your 
 breath was better, but not your best. What have I told 
 you to keep ever in mind? 'No water, no sailing; no 
 
 132
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 breathing, no singing.' According as you wish to sail 
 you seek the water upon which you would sail, and accord-i 
 ing as you wish to sing, you must find the breath with 
 which to sing. Now, ready; breathe slowly." 
 
 The master spoke kindly, but firmly, and finished by 
 shaking his short finger at her,_ as if in warning; then 
 concluded: "There, now, remember." 
 
 As Julia, Madame Nitolsk and Alverstone descended 
 the few steps, and while waiting for the butler to open 
 the street door, they heard distinctly the voices of Nevere 
 and the maestro. 
 
 Nevere had remained a few minutes at the door of the 
 salon, talking with the master. They were evidently 
 speaking about music, for every now and then the waiting 
 group could hear the master say: "Four sharps is not 
 the key," and sentences of like musical import. And then 
 the master's words came clear and distinct. Evidently 
 he had counted much upon the ensemble of the voices of 
 the three below to drown what he was saying to Nevere ; 
 but the emphatic admonition came clear and defined: 
 "Nevere, please, the next time you come, and each time 
 after, remember that my studio is not an Exposition des 
 Chiens. When it is I will send you many invitations. 
 Your choice of guests is admirable. Monsieur Alver- 
 stone must excuse me. You know, Nevere, that I am 
 very sensitive on this point." 
 
 The maestro had not liked the slight nervousness 
 which Julia had shown during the lesson, and he would 
 not have it again. Never once in his long life had this 
 grand old man known an idle hour, and to him it was 
 intolerable in others. 
 
 Nevere descended into the vestibule and all went out 
 together. 
 
 The air was humid, and some fifteen minutes before 
 it must have been raining ; but the pavement was dry, as 
 
 133
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 it is in Paris in an incredibly short time after a rain has 
 ceased to sift, fall or pour, and the sky was gray. 
 
 Nevere was gloomily thoughtful, for he had disliked 
 very much the idea that the maestro should have inti- 
 mated that he was not serious he, Etienne Nevere, 
 master-genius of the art of the brush and the canvas 
 portrait painter of ecclesiastics, of royalty, of social 
 heads. 
 
 It was no slight pain, this, he felt at the Signer 
 Novara's insinuations. To think that he must be 
 reminded of the inconsistency of a great artist like him- 
 self in being guilty of failure to keep his appointment 
 with the maestro as flutist, and for that very grave cause 
 gossip with a comrade. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk was too angry to speak, for Alver- 
 stone had stepped ahead and was walking beside Julia, 
 while she was left no choice, but forced to walk with 
 Nevere. 
 
 Julia walked in silence and held a silk handker- 
 chief over her mouth, and partially closing her nose, to 
 preclude the possibility of a cold. 
 
 "I never walk when the air is not fine," said Julia, 
 in a muffled voice, to Alverstone. "I am very sorry, 
 but I must perforce take a cab here, or I may suffer a 
 cold." 
 
 "Stand here, Miss Pembroke, and I'll go signal that 
 cab yonder." 
 
 He started in the direction of a victoria that was 
 crossing the street a short distance up. 
 
 "You are wise, Miss Pembroke, to take a cab," 
 observed Nevere; "if you walk home in this air you 
 should have an Angora in your throat to-morrow." 
 
 He was glad to say a word to Julia, for he did not 
 fancy Madame Nitolsk. He was a French gentleman, 
 of the fine, old school, and nothing pained him more 
 
 134
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 than close contact with a woman lacking in delicate sen- 
 sibilities. And as anger shows the depths of one's char-* 
 acter, Madame Nitolsk, with all her subtleties, was no 
 exception to this rule. 
 
 Nevere was a great portrait painter, and so knew 
 that something was different in her manner, which he 
 had never seen before. But he told himself that he 
 was not in a very prepossessing mood; and then, too, 
 he was an artist, not a society man, and, therefore, could 
 not pet each whim and mood of women, no matter how 
 beautiful or brilliant they might be. 
 
 Alverstone could not attract the notice of his cab- 
 man, but one turning the corner just then saw the young 
 American waiting for her cab, and drove up to the curb- 
 stone where the group was standing. He knew this 
 young girl to go there for lessons, and wisely watched 
 around for her. On days that were not pleasant Julia 
 never failed to take a cab. She was only one passenger ; 
 besides, she always gave him his expected gratuity. Had 
 Julia known all, she would have seen that far back in 
 the beginning of her life in Paris this same driver had 
 had a chat with the concierge of her apartment house, 
 and that from her he had learned of the bon cceur, or 
 kind heart, of Mademoiselle Pembroke the American 
 singer. 
 
 Alverstone pressed Julia's hand, Nevere bowed defer- 
 entially and Madame Nitolsk smiled, as one much pleased, 
 saying, "Au revoir, Mademoiselle." 
 
 Julia bowed once and said: "Good evening." Then, 
 quickly covered her mouth again, and Alverstone closed 
 the door. And the victoria drove away. 
 
 As Madame Nitolsk and the two men neared the end 
 of the Rue de Monceau, at the juncture of the Avenue 
 Friedland with the Boulevard Haussmann, Etienne 
 Nevere left his companions of the walk and went in the 
 
 135
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 direction of the Place de 1'Etoile, for he was to play 
 for Madame Legay, the first lyric singer at the Opera. 
 
 Alverstone and Madame Nitolsk turned to continue 
 down the boulevard. As they left Haussmann and went 
 to the Rue Auber, a landau drawn by two dull-black 
 horses turned off the rue down the boulevard. It bore 
 the coat of arms of the Trents. Alverstone saw it and 
 recognized it, and so did Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 They walked on in silence for a few minutes, then she 
 drew very near Alverstone, and, lowering her voice to 
 a faint sound, said: "Our friend Lieutenant Trent is 
 soon to be married." 
 
 ""True? To whom?" 
 
 "Miss Pembroke. You know of their engagement?" 
 
 For a moment Alverstone was caught in the trap 
 set by Madame Nitolsk. He gave a very perceptible 
 start at mention of Julia's name, but quickly concealed 
 his emotion. 
 
 "Where did you learn this?" he inquired, curiously. 
 
 "Oh! you do not know of the affair?" again asked 
 Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 "No, I do not," replied Alverstone. "Who told you, 
 may I ask?" 
 
 "Yes, you may ask; but I can only reply that many, 
 many persons have told me. I only learned of it last 
 night, at the soiree. It seems it is the talk rumor, if 
 you please of all English circles. They say it is the 
 cause of the Lieutenant's return from the far East." 
 
 Alverstone looked down Rue Auber and tried to 
 keep Madame Nitolsk from seeing his face, but she was 
 exceptionally sensitive to such matters, and needed her 
 eyes no longer to tell her that this bit of news was tor- 
 turing Hampton Alverstone, and in a most excruciating 
 manner. She fairly crushed herself in her diabolical 
 delirium at the agony. 
 
 136
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 She had seen his loving pressure of Julia's hand 
 before he had closed the cab door. She had seen the 
 soul-flit go from eye to eye as Julia had raised her eyes 
 when saying her one good-bye. All that had transpired 
 to-day, from the time of the entrance of Alverstone and 
 Nevere, had been carefully noted by Madame Nitolsk, 
 and she had accepted as a foregone conclusion the love 
 of Alverstone for Miss Pembroke. She knew Miss Pem- 
 broke did not reciprocate this love as fully as Alver-i 
 stone might wish, but she was certain that the American 
 singer was not insensible to his love. 
 
 Hampton Alverstone loved Julia Pembroke, and in 
 so far she felt herself vanquished. But she would not 
 remain vanquished. No obstacle which she wished 
 removed ever remained long before her, and this one 
 would be removed. She had once been in Paradise, for 
 like all persons, she had been born a child, and children 
 are innocent, and childhood is earthly Paradise. 
 
 Alverstone's love for Julia must be quenched. To 
 Madame Nitolsk it were not possible that Julia was 
 capable of enslaving Alverstone so deeply that he either 
 willingly or unwillingly should love even a fold of cloth 
 because it touched her exquisite throat, or that he could 
 love distractedly the crease in a pair of gloves because 
 the gloves had been too hastily clasped around Julia's 
 delicate small wrist. Madame Nitolsk still knew Julia 
 Pembroke to be a beautiful woman beautiful from her 
 innate charm of womanhood a happy condition, to which 
 no power on earth could ever have elevated Madame 
 Nitolsk. 
 
 No one understands such existing circumstances bet- 
 ter nor feels the crushing force of their truth more than 
 the one who has fallen by the way and can never again 
 stand upon the summit of perfect womanhood or perfect 
 manhood. 
 
 137
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk knew that only by intrigue could 
 she ever harm the woman whose sterling worth had 
 moved to its depths the love of an English-American 
 Hampton Alverstone. 
 
 He should think Julia a double character. It might 
 be hard, she reasoned on, to bring him to believe aught 
 wrong of Julia, for these Northern men and women were 
 not prone to think ill of those in whom they placed their 
 trust. As this was the only course which seemed to 
 present itself, she began at once. 
 
 "You do not think it probable that Miss Pembroke is 
 engaged to Lieutenant Trent?" again asked Madame 
 Nitolsk. 
 
 Alverstone turned and looked inquiringly at her. 
 There was a small gleam in his eyes, that, as he con- 
 tinued his gaze, almost twinkled. She saw it and under- 
 stood that he did not believe what she had said. Very 
 well, he shall believe, she thought, with fine mental 
 emphasis on the shall. She must find evidence of a some- 
 what material nature. What should it be? 
 
 They were now passing a small show case of a jew- 
 eler. The window was artistically arranged, and the 
 gold and precious stones looked very tempting against 
 their purple background. It was near Christmas, and a 
 fog had settled down on Paris, as it often doeis during 
 the winter months. The lights had been lit, and the 
 interior of the shop was almost as gay as the brilliant 
 window. Lying within one of the little purple boxes 
 was a beautiful lyre. It was almost the facsimile of 
 the one Madame Nitolsk had given Trent on the morning 
 of the ride in the Bois. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk's brain worked quickly, and soon 
 framed a scheme. This jewel in the window had made 
 a suggestion. 
 
 "Look!" said Madame Nitolsk, stopping Alverstone 
 
 138
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 and glancing first at the window and then at him, with 
 a quick, inquisitive, yet smiling regard, and then back at 
 the window again. "Look! there is an exact pattern 
 of the lyre given Lieutenant Trent by Miss Pembroke. 
 The one near the center near that plain gold bangle. 
 See?" and she pointed her small gloved finger solicit- 
 ously toward the place at which she wished him to look. 
 
 She felt secure in saying just what she wished to 
 say to suit her purpose, for well she knew that there was 
 nothing to fear from detection by either of the men 
 Alverstone or Trent. For Alverstone would not allow 
 himself to ask so personal a question of any one, she 
 was sure, and Lieutenant Trent, she knew, was far too 
 proud of his name ever to acknowledge having received 
 such a present from any woman between whom and him- 
 self there existed a bond less than that of kinship. 
 
 "It is a very becoming present from a gifted singer 
 to her fiance," she went on, enthusiastically. "Oh! 
 it is so beautiful. You must see it; the Lieutenant 
 wears it on his chain very beautiful diamonds in 
 it three, I believe fine ones. A lyre from a song- 
 stress whom he has decided to cage for himself! How 
 romantic!" She looked askance at Alverstone as they 
 walked on, then, again: "It is so like the dear little 
 girl. Really, I am much in love with her myself." 
 
 She paused, in hopes that Alverstone would speak, 
 but his mouth was sealed. They walked on, and the 
 short silence which ensued was ominous. It turned the 
 heart of Madame Nitolsk to stone; it frenzied her jeal- 
 ous mind. She laughed lightly a pretty laugh, though. 
 
 "Truly, if you do not speak soon, I shall begin to 
 think you are not pleased with the good fortune of 
 your friend, the Lieutenant, in winning for himself 
 your charming American songstress." 
 
 139
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Alverstone recalled himself, understanding that Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk had reason to think his action strange. 
 
 "It would be a very appropriate gift, I am sure. 
 I am not cruel; I should like to see Miss Pembroke 
 happy. If she loves Lieutenant Trent and he loves her, 
 there is no objection offered by me." 
 
 "But you saw the lyre, did you not, last evening, at 
 the Trents?" 
 
 Alverstone's cane struck hard upon the pavement. 
 "Yes, I did," he retorted, petulantly. "But how do you 
 know Miss Pembroke gave it to him?" 
 
 And his tone was curiously inquiring, for he was 
 loth to believe that Julia had given Trent the lyre. 
 
 "I was struck by its unique beauty, and I told the 
 Lieutenant so," replied Madame Nitolsk, with celerity. 
 "I asked him where he had bought it. He said it was 
 a present. Had I suspected aught of the truth I should 
 not have put the question so pointedly. I expected him 
 to say that he had gotten it on Rue de la Paix or Rue 
 Royale or at Tiffany's. He actually blushed that brave 
 Lieutenant Trent then I said, 'Ah, I beg your pardon; 
 but I know who gave it to you/ He blushed a deep 
 crimson at this, and then I said: 'Miss Pembroke gave 
 it to you.' " 
 
 "And what did Trent say?" asked Alverstone. 
 
 "Not a word, yet I know that his silence is properly 
 construed when read to mean assent to my question. 
 Therefore, what more would you ! I ceased my importuni- 
 ties, and, putting all the little rumors together, I felt 
 that I had the name of the giver of that beautiful lyre." 
 
 She paused a moment and looked up at Alverstone 
 with a pleading look. Then she went on more rapidly 
 than before, but she did not seem to be so emphatically 
 explicit. 
 
 140
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "As to their engagement, I heard it from many, many 
 people. And did you not remark how devotedly he 
 guarded her during the evening?" 
 
 "I know they were together much," replied Alver- 
 stdne, "but not to the exclusion of others." 
 
 "Ah! that is very prettily put. You men have so 
 nice a way of appearing far above the ignoble pettinesses 
 of women. Nevertheless, my dear friend, Mr. Alver- 
 stone, listen. Do not be vague ; listen the engagement 
 a lyre what people say what follows the marriage" 
 She shrugged her shoulders and laughed; at the 
 same time she looked at Alverstone to see if her words 
 had had the desired effect. Alverstone was looking 
 straight ahead of him and made no reply. At first he 
 had disbelieved his companion, but he had seen the charm. 
 And, though he disliked himself for the unmanly thought 
 that there was more than a perfect consistency in their 
 dancing as many dances as they chose, he yet felt a 
 gnawing of jealousy. Alverstone loved Julia, and the 
 true love of an American man permits of trust in the 
 object of his warmest affection. 
 
 Yet a little shade of desolation swept across his love- 
 lorn soul. 
 
 "Perhaps that is why she gave me no encouragement," 
 he thought. 
 
 They were now at the door of Madame Nitolsk's. 
 Alverstone lifted his high hat politely and bowed, as all 
 Parisians are able to bow to the point of perfection. 
 
 "Good evening, Monsieur Alverstone." 
 
 "Good evening, Madame Nitolsk." 
 
 "You will come to see me soon?" 
 
 "Thank you ; I shall remember. Bonsoir, Madame." 
 
 "Au revoir, Monsieur." 
 
 They parted. 
 
 141
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Nevere, seated before a table in his apartment, had 
 just finished the transposition of a tenor role into the 
 barytone. 
 
 "How ridiculous!" he thought. "Tenors all want to 
 be leading tenors, and most men want to be tenors. I 
 suppose they should not be blamed, for they only wish 
 to soar, and that is natural. But think of all this work 
 for me, just to suit a whim. It will not be at all pretty 
 sung by a barytone 'Romeo son demon' re, re, sol, sol, 
 mi, re. The re of 'Romeo' must be si below the staff. The 
 key is now two sharps instead of one flat a trifle gayer. 
 This kind barytone Demot said he did not want to go 
 above sol. 
 
 "Very well, Monsieur Demot, you need not fear high 
 notes ; la in alt is as high as Monseigneur Tybalt, tenor, 
 squeaks, and you are more than an octave below." 
 
 Having finished the transposition, Nevere started to 
 rise from his work. A sharp pain ran through his arm 
 where he had been wounded by the Apache. He crossed 
 to the window and looked out upon the street. The 
 day was rainy and the sky was gray. The gloom out- 
 side seemed to enter his soul, and sad thoughts of Alver- 
 stone's budding love for the bright, young singer made 
 him contrast this fresh, young love with that which for 
 years had burned within his own veins. His, though now 
 grown calm, was none the less strong and steady. The 
 fitful hours had passed as a course run by the most rav^ 
 aging of fevers, and during its period of delirium he had 
 raved in wildest incoherency. The crisis had come and 
 gone, and he was left in calm serenity, yet still as ardent 
 
 142
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 a lover as before. He foresaw the same for Alver stone 
 if he should find himself entangled in unrequited love. 
 
 "I should like to keep him from going down into the 
 pain of such disappointment. If he could marry this 
 American nightingale, it would be all very well but if 
 he should be forced to love her as I have loved my Euro- 
 pean nightingale from afar, with not a shade of love for 
 any other woman he will not be so happy as he should be 
 were he to place his affections where he might hope for 
 a requital. Oh ! love ! love ! love ! what pain, what 
 anguish ! what never-ending woe follows in thy wake if"- 
 He paused and dropped his forehead upon his open 
 palm as though the anguish were more than he could 
 endure. 
 
 His arm here recalled him ; he gripped it firmly with 
 the left hand, saying to himself : "I see I must take care 
 of this arm ; if it should grow much worse I could not 
 play my flute, and then what then ? My position at the 
 Opera would be given to another." 
 
 The thought made him wince with a sinking thud of 
 the heart. He could not imagine life bearable without 
 the solace of those nights when Madame Cinati sang 
 at the Opera and he filled the position of flutist. 
 
 "Oh, love ! love ! is it possible that there has ever 
 existed or ever shall exist a philosopher who can define 
 love love, which, on the heights, arrives at a state of 
 delirium, in which is found utmost completeness of the 
 mind's desire completeness which for calm and peace- 
 ful, mutual trust is unequalled by any image words are 
 able to paint of beatific visions of that future state of 
 bliss. And then love, when in the depths of despair no 
 after state of anguish pictured in most vivid language 
 can equal the torment endured." 
 
 He arose from his table and paced rapidly around the 
 room, fully exemplifying his idea of disappointed love. 
 
 143
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 After a time he paused in front of a window, and, 
 looking out, he saw a forlorn creature below upon the 
 opposite side of the street. He had one hand upon the 
 crank of a hurdy-gurdy and was scanning the building 
 in front of him. The practiced eye of one accustomed 
 to look for a human being, if perchance a sympathetic 
 chord might be struck, caught sight of the artistic face 
 of Nevere at the casement, which he had just opened to 
 feel if the air were very humid. 
 
 If it should be, he told himself that his arm pained 
 because of a tendency to rheumatism. 
 
 "Un petit sou, Monsieur" came up from below. 
 
 "Mercie, Monsieur" again came from the wretched 
 being in rags and tatters, as it looked at the two-sou 
 piece thrown down by Nevere. 
 
 Then in gratitude the crank turned, and the hurdy- 
 gurdy began its play. But what melody did it sing out! 
 Did he know it? It was madness to listen to it. It was 
 the song with which Madame Cinati had so often so 
 unconsciously driven him almost over the precipice of 
 despair. "A quell 'amor" He would not hear it, but it 
 went on, and Nevere banged the casement windows to 
 and locked them, as if wood and glass were impenetrable 
 by musical sound. Still he heard "misterioso, misterioso, 
 altero." It was a faint melody, now singing up from 
 below, but it was loud enough to Nevere. He knew it 
 too well, and the. tune was playing in his brain, and it 
 sounded like strident clarions in his ears. 
 
 He flew to the piano and tried to play the music, 
 the transposition of which he had just finished, but in 
 vain. All his fingers would play was one tune, one cer- 
 tain following of notes. It formed a sweet ensemble of 
 sound, but to the flutist it was the song of the Lorelei. 
 It was the song that triumphed in his ears; it was the 
 keynote of a great opera. The battle was won by the 
 
 144
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 forces of the past; for, as the great scientist has said, 
 we are at the mercy of our "hypos," and in the case of 
 Nevere the "hypo" of which Madame Cinati was the 
 immediate cause ruled him with an iron hand. He had 
 dreamed of this brilliant woman; had spent hundreds of 
 hours in silent, almost motionless ecstasy of contempla- 
 tion of her power over him, until often he would have 
 furnished a very interesting example of the hypochon- 
 driac. 
 
 He would often conclude one of these fearful medita- 
 tions with a determination to seek medical aid, for he 
 would assure himself that at least he was sick. But 
 instead of calling to the rescue some doctor of medicine, 
 in wildest imaginations he continued to feed his ill- 
 starred love. All other women were as little children 
 to him when compared with Madame Cinati; and all 
 this, too, though she was rarely in his presence, and less 
 often was he able to exchange a word with her. 
 
 The little ebony clock struck one, and this recalled 
 Nevere to the hour and its duties. 
 
 "One o'clock," he thought; "and at one-thirty Lady 
 Trent will be here for her sitting." He rang for his 
 butler. 
 
 "Here, Paul," he said, for that worthy quickly 
 responded and ceremoniously posed, and said: "Mon- 
 sieur" 
 
 "Well, Paul ; you got the charcoal?" 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur." 
 
 "And the ochre and pastels?" went on Nevere. 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur," again came the answer of assent, 
 in a low, gentle voice. 
 
 '"I saw the fruiterer below in the street this morning, 
 and he had fine white grapes. Did you get some?" 
 
 "No, Monsieur; the vender let the rich Americans 
 in the fine house across the street have them."
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Not all?" said Nevere. 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur ; all their butler took the whole bas- 
 ket, and the rich man stood in the door and threw a big 
 piece of gold at the vender and told him to keep it all." 
 
 "Oh ! la ! la ! la ! la !" said Nevere, in extreme disgust. 
 
 The butler, thinking his master was annoyed at hav- 
 ing no grapes, said: "Monsieur, I'll get you the finest 
 grapes in the market, at Potin's." 
 
 "Oh, Paul, that is not it. I am grieved over these 
 Americans. They think their money is the best thing 
 in the world, and they have so much that they throw it 
 around here as if they thought French people were all 
 beggars no higher than the gamin of the gutters." 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur," meekly assented the butler. 
 
 Nevere looked out of the window and his eyes grew 
 very small and the mouth seemed to iset. 
 
 The servant saw the fierce look and understood that 
 his master was unhappy. But he did not try to wonder 
 about the cause, for it was an oft-recurring expression, 
 this brown study of the artist. 
 
 "Monsieur," timidly began the butler. 
 
 "Well," answered Nevere, without changing his atti- 
 tude. 
 
 "I heard something this morning. May I tell Mon- 
 sieur?" 
 
 "Is it good news, Paul? For if it is not, I do not 
 care to hear it." 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur, and it will interest Monsieur." 
 
 "Very well, Paul; what is it?" 
 
 "The American girl who studies French with Madame 
 Lefevre, on the first floor, has just gotten a large for- 
 tune from America." 
 
 "Ah! Paul; are you sure?" 
 
 "Oui, Monsieur, I am quite sure; she is a great heir- 
 ess rich rich very rich." 
 
 146
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 And Paul had great difficulty to restrain himself 
 within required bounds of decorum, he so longed to 
 gesticulate as to the size of the fortune. 
 
 Nevere had become much interested, and was in dan- 
 ger of betraying to one of the serving class his interest 
 in this American singer, as she had come to be called by 
 those who knew her. 
 
 "Do you mean the young American who studies 
 French with Madame on the first floor?" asked Nevere, 
 endeavoring to suppress his eagerness to know. 
 
 "Yes, I mean that young woman." 
 
 "How did you learn this?" 
 
 "My cousin and I were standing at the large door 
 talking this morning. I was there looking for another 
 fruit vendor, when my cousin came by and stopped. The 
 Mademoiselle passed through the door and went on in, to 
 her teacher. My cousin said to me, 'That young woman 
 was in the office of my employer, Monsieur La Blanche, 
 this morning. She came in with the opera singer, Mad- 
 ame Cinati; and after they had gone out of the office I 
 overheard Monsieur La Blanche say to his secretary that 
 this young woman with the opera singer had inherited 
 a great fortune in America ; that she was one of the rich- 
 est women in the world ; that she owned three large gold 
 mines in California.' That, Monsieur, is what my cousin 
 said." 
 
 "I am glad to hear this. The Mademoiselle is very 
 deserving. There, go, Paul." 
 
 Nevere was cut short, for the ringing of the bell 
 called Paul to his duty. 
 
 "Ah, indeed," thought Nevere, when he found him- 
 self alone. "A fortune; I hope it is true. Then this 
 Alverstone might be able to win the fair damsel away 
 from her career, as they put it. True, these singers sing 
 for art's sake ; but often, too, for the money that is in it." 
 
 147
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 For his part, Nevere loved his work, his art, far too 
 much to desire the care of much money. His work, 
 which he loved as a part of himself, brought him good 
 returns in a substantial price for every portrait painted 
 by him, and he cared not to dazzle the world by any vul- 
 gar display of money; so, of course, as far as wealth 
 was concerned, he was content no man was richer. His 
 art his delight in the beauties of the world and his enjoy- 
 ments of those pleasures which were to his taste made his 
 wealth far greater than that of the owners of the largest 
 gold mines in the world. 
 
 He looked out at the sky through the window and 
 observed that the clouds were chasing one another rap- 
 idly, which bespoke a fair afternoon. And that it would 
 be better for the portrait of Lady Trent. 
 
 "Lady Trent to see Monsieur Nevere," said the but- 
 ler, who had entered softly. 
 
 "Show her ladyship into the studio, and I'll be there 
 presently." 
 
 Lady Trent had come to know Etienne Nevere under 
 most favorable circumstances, for her sister, the Princesse 
 de Loire, had often insisted that she, Lady Trent, give 
 Monsieur Nevere a sitting, and she had visited the artist's 
 studio, and often thought she would do so, but as yet 
 she had had no picture painted by Etienne Nevere. 
 
 On the morning after the Trent reception Lieutenant 
 Trent had told his mother of the man attacked by the 
 Apache. Lady Trent had been pleased to remember that 
 this man was the same who had painted those portraits, 
 most highly prized of the long lines of ancestors on the 
 walls of the house of the Prince de Loire, in which the 
 Trents were then staying. And she had pointed out to 
 her son certain portraits which Nevere had painted. Then 
 it had been decided to visit Monsieur Nevere in the after- 
 noon of that same day, and it had pleased Nevere to 
 
 148
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 arrange for a sitting for Lady Trent on the following 
 afternoon. 
 
 When Lady Trent had suggested to her son that he 
 accompany her to the artist's, he had very readily con^ 
 sented to do so. She had been delighted with this ready 
 compliance, but she had been far from delighted had she 
 known the secret spring of assent. 
 
 Trent was a soldier, and adventurous therefrom. A 
 woman like Madame Nitolsk fed this wild strain, and he 
 thought that she might be there, since Nevere did work 
 for her. 
 
 Though Trent was free to call at the house of Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk, he enjoyed this possible meeting, since he 
 was anxious that -his mother meet her as often as possi- 
 ble. Trent was truly grateful for the protection given 
 him from the Sepoys, but he was equally grateful that 
 Monsieur Nitolsk's widow was here in Paris. 
 
 He knew she was not acceptable to his mother, but 
 he thought that were they thrown more together it 
 might come to be different. 
 
 The studio of Etienne Nevere was much to the liking 
 of Lady Trent, for an air of delicate refinement pervaded 
 the entire atmosphere, whether taken in its separateness 
 or as a whole. Then, too, she liked Nevere. He pleased 
 her very much, indeed, for several reasons, not the least 
 of which was the fact that he was flutist for Maestro 
 Novara. In this capacity, while accompanying Julia 
 Pembroke, he would know something of her, and Lady 
 Trent had no little hope that Reginald, her son, might 
 be led to consider this American girl as a type o-f woman 
 preferred by his mother above all others. 
 
 She knew her son would be present during some 
 part of her sitting, and she would be sure to lead the 
 conversation toward Julia when Reginald should be there. 
 She was devoured, so to say, with the desire to see him 
 
 149
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the husband of some serious-minded woman, one who 
 would do for his home what she herself had done for the 
 home of his father, Lord Trent guard its sacred pre- 
 cincts, shield its innocence and purity from attacking 
 wolves of society, besides dispensing its hospitality upon 
 the worthy. 
 
 When shown into the studio Lady Trent had seated 
 herself upon a divan, and, from her point of view, the 
 effect of the whole was exceedingly beautiful. While 
 enjoying the beauty ensemble of the room her attention 
 was suddenly arrested. She found herself intently gazing 
 into two large and strangely captivating black eyes. They 
 were only the eyes of a little child, some three or four 
 years of age, but Lady Trent was powerless to look away 
 from the wondrous eyes. She was a mother at heart, 
 as well as by right of sex, and something in those deep, 
 deep eyes of the child's portrait spoke, to her, appealed 
 to the mother within her. 
 
 She arose and crossed to where the portrait rested 
 upon an easel. As she stood before the canvas, smiling 
 and lost in communion with the spirit pent up within 
 that lovely child, whose beautiful soul spoke touchingly 
 through his large, soft eyes, the door opened and Nevere 
 entered. 
 
 "Good morning, Lady Trent," said Nevere, crossing 
 to her, and, with due ceremony, taking the hand Lady 
 Trent held out to him. "I am sorry to keep you waiting." 
 
 "Do not fear for me, Monsieur Nevere," replied Lady 
 Trent. "Did you not see my delight in listening to the 
 many pretty things that child yonder has been telling 
 me?" 
 
 "You like it, then?" asked Nevere, pleased, as artists 
 are with an admirer of a work which to them stands for 
 more than the ordinary portrait. 
 
 150
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "I love it the most beautiful countenance I have ever 
 seen," replied Lady Trent. "The curls," she continued, 
 "are caressingly tender, yet seem to partake of the 
 severity of dignity that holds one as strongly as do those 
 wondrous gazelle eyes." 
 
 "Yes, I agree with you, Lady Trent," replied Nevere. 
 
 "I should not ask, is the child as beautiful as the 
 portrait? for I know that Monsieur Nevere makes only 
 perfect copies." 
 
 Lady Trent had a most happy manner of being deli- 
 cate and tactful on all occasions. 
 
 "No," gently objected the artist. "I have made him 
 no more beautiful than he is." 
 
 "May I ask the name?" 
 
 "He is the little son of Madame Nitolsk." 
 
 "The widow from India?" 
 
 "Yes, that is her child." 
 
 "I did not know she had a child." 
 
 "Yes, but he is older than that now. I painted that 
 four years ago, and I painted the mother then, too. She 
 was in Paris with her husband, and I painted these two, 
 but could not finish the father, before he was called 
 home to Calcutta. Here is the mother at that time." 
 And as he lifted the Oriental silk drapery from before 
 the large life-sized portrait upon an easel standing just 
 behind the portrait of little Adino, Lady Trent's face 
 took on a very different expression from that worn 
 at the meeting of little Adino. 
 
 "She is a very different type from her child, you 
 see," began Nevere. "The child has the large eye, with 
 other features suiting, and the most delicately sensitive 
 mouth, while the mother, though also dark, has the 
 almond-shaped eye, with corresponding features. The 
 mouth, minus all sensitiveness small, clear-cut and firm."
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "How well you artists read the face." 
 
 Nevere laughed in reply, and, after adjusting his 
 easel to suit the position of Lady Trent, he said: "When 
 I began my work as an artist I saw nothing but lines, 
 lines, lines, on every side; when I took my daily airing 
 or joined my fellows at the club or in a cafe, I often felt 
 myself at such a loss to understand the meaning of the 
 word face that I feared my reason was departing. I 
 saw no faces, saw no persons; I saw only lines, creases, 
 shadows, lights, repose, action." 
 
 Then he paused, both in his talk and in his work, 
 while he stepped back from his easel and surveyed the 
 master strokes he had already put upon the canvas. 
 Then he continued as he worked again: "Just as now, I 
 am searching for the values, as we term them in the 
 language of our art yes, I am searching for the values, 
 which are to make this portrait of Lady Trent exactly 
 what Lady Trent would have it to be. For years I 
 suffered so much from this pain of seeing no face as 
 a face that I feared I could not enjoy life and be a 
 portrait painter." 
 
 "But you do not experience this difficulty now?" 
 observed Lady Trent. 
 
 "Ah, no, indeed, Lady Trent ; I am quite a normal 
 being now. I think my trouble in accommodating myself 
 to the requirements of this line of work lay in my over- 
 anxiety to gain time. That is generally the case with 
 young artists, and the intenser the nature, the intenser 
 the degree of assiduity with which the student applies 
 himself. There! will you come here, Lady Trent?" 
 
 Nevere had a habit of calling away his models at 
 any moment, and to this he attributed his rare skill in 
 making portraits of undeniable naturalness, for no por- 
 trait of Nevere's painting was found stiff, cold or life- 
 less. 
 
 152
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 After Lady Trent had looked with approval upon 
 the outline of herself, he perfected her pose again and 
 began anew to work and to talk. 
 
 "You are a little stern, for you, Lady Trent," he 
 made observation. "Please allow your eyes to rest upon 
 the face of little Adino. There, that is good. I thought 
 that would rub out that unnatural line. It is gone, and 
 the result is fine. 
 
 He laughed good-humoredly, and Lady Trent smiled 
 a little. 
 
 "I am glad you advised looking at Adino. Looking 
 at him makes one happy. I should like to be taken that 
 way," and she smiled again. 
 
 "There, you looked extra fine when you wore that 
 smile. I must catch the light with which this smile 
 illumines the face. We don't want the maternal over- 
 developed in the face, either, and this is my specialty, 
 working for different shadings different values so 
 that I have the entire personality, and not a one-sided 
 portrait. In classes where I studied I have known the 
 model to sit facing the strong light, and no mercy shown, 
 for what should have been a smooth forehead would be 
 creased with light-wrinkled frowns. Neither does one 
 want to have a set gaze, else the portrait is likely to 
 remind one of the appearance of Carlysle, whose por- 
 traits give the impression that he is looking at some- 
 thing hidden far away in some forgotten corner of his 
 brain." 
 
 "Pardon, Monsieur, I wish to remark that little Adino 
 bears himself like a prince." 
 
 "His grandmother was the Principessa di Turinna." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Lady Trent, in genuine sur- 
 prise ; "I have often heard of that family. I do not 
 understand. Madame Nitolsk is not an Italian." 
 
 153
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Really, Lady Trent, I do not know. I often tried, 
 during my work on her portrait, to gain some knowl- 
 edge of herself and her family, but she allowed me not 
 the slightest clue. If you are tired, Lady Trent, you 
 can be seated and rest, for I can work here without 
 you some little time." 
 
 "I am not tired; I think I shall keep my pose." 
 
 "When I was fifteen years old," said Nevere, "I 
 studied in Rome. I was a kind of helper in the studio 
 of that famous artist, Suido. He painted portraits of 
 members of the royal families, from all parts of Europe, 
 and some for the great rulers of the Orient. Among 
 his patrons were several of the Turinna family, and I 
 remember well when the Principessa, their only daughter, 
 came into the studio. She was nineteen years old. She 
 was very beautiful." 
 
 "She must have been beautiful/' interrupted Lady 
 Trent, "if this child resembles her." 
 
 "Yes, Adino resembles her very, very much; perhaps 
 when he is nineteen years old he will resemble her, quite. 
 She was as amiable in disposition as beautiful in form 
 and face. She was the delight of her parents and the 
 fond pride of her adoring brothers. It was a fine sight 
 to see those four brothers vying with one another in 
 their endeavors to do her homage." 
 
 "But how did she come to marry a Russian?" asked 
 Lady Trent, eager to get to the point that held most 
 interest for ladies of her type the irregularity an Ital- 
 ian and an untitled Russian. 
 
 "Ah! Lady Trent, the same sad story she eloped 
 with him ; and for this unfilial act she had never so 
 much as expressed to any of her friends the slightest 
 fondness for the man she was disowned by her family, 
 and society entirely ostracized her. For two years I 
 knew nothing of the beautiful princess; she was never 
 
 154
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 seen in public after. But one day on the Corso I saw 
 a nurse pushing a cab with a little child in it. That 
 child was the father of little Adino." 
 
 "That little child," energetically interjected Lady 
 Trent," grew to be a brave and noble man." 
 
 The thought of the service rendered her in saving the 
 life of her darling Reginald, swept wave-like across her, 
 and as she pictured the horror in death at the hands of 
 those heathen Sepoys, Nevere again suggested rest. Lady 
 Trent walked over to look at the part of herself upon 
 the canvas, and expressed herself satisfied with the result 
 of the deft hand of Monsieur Etienne Nevere. Then she 
 sat down to relax a few moments, for, though fitted by 
 physical strength to be the mother of the brave Lieuten- 
 ant, her portrait would be the better for an intermission 
 of relaxation. 
 
 "The banker Nitolsk must have been of the old Ro- 
 man type," observed Lady Trent, in continuation. 
 
 "Yes, he was a perfect copy of his mother." 
 
 "Oh! I see, and this little child, Adino, resembles his 
 father and his maternal grandmother the Roman blood 
 predominates right through," said Lady Trent, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "It is a strange blood," said Nevere, "this Roman 
 blood. People speak of the dying out of the Roman 
 blood, but their observations and deductions are not care- 
 fully made, I am quite sure." 
 
 While resting, Lady Trent narrated to Nevere the 
 rescue of her son by the financier, Nitolsk. 
 
 "Ah," said Nevere, tenderly, "that is like the banker's 
 Roman ancestry ; they were nobles." 
 
 "I wish," said Lady Trent, "that his life might have 
 been spared." 
 
 "You know of his death?" asked Nevere, cautiously. 
 
 155
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Yes, I have the story as told by Madame Nitolsk to 
 my son, and as reported in the papers at the time of his 
 death," and Lady Trent detailed how he had been found 
 dead of heart failure. 
 
 "That is the same as the account contained in the 
 'Figaro' at the time something over a year ago." 
 
 "Sudden death must be horrible, indeed/' said Lady 
 Trent. "Now I think I shall take my position again. 
 Do you ever play for Miss Pembroke?" asked Lady 
 Trent. 
 
 "Yes, Lady Trent, I do; and I am always glad to 
 accompany her," replied Nevere. 
 
 "I presume you find her quite a singer." 
 
 "Yes, she has a beautiful voice and she is a thorough 
 artist. She and my flute are rivals." 
 
 At this juncture the hanging across the entrance to 
 the studio was parted by the butler, and Lieutenant Trent 
 entered without announcement. After he had passed 
 through he stopped and gave his mother a military salute, 
 saying just one word "Mother." 
 
 Had Nevere not stood quiet before his picture, and in 
 the attitude of admiration of mother and son, he had 
 found that maternal fondness and motherly pride had a 
 monopoly of the lights and shadows which rested at that 
 moment, and steadily upon the countenance of Lady 
 Trent. 
 
 But who could work during the entrance of the hand- 
 some young English officer! 
 
 After the loving recognition shown the mother, he 
 advanced toward Nevere, who would not approach him 
 while in the discharge of a loving filial duty no, loving 
 filial privilege which was for him fraught with so much 
 gracious tenderness, extended his hand, and the cus- 
 tomary salutations of such men passed between the two. 
 
 "You are suffering less, I hope," said Trent, as he 
 
 156
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 walked toward the seat to which Nevere invited him, 
 but beside which he only stood, laying his right hand 
 upon the back. His mother was standing for her life- 
 sized portrait, and were he at this time to sit upon the 
 chair, Lieutenant Trent would never respect Lieutenant 
 Trent for so great a breach of etiquette, not to mention 
 the hurt to filial devotion, which for his mother he had 
 in the highest degree. 
 
 "I suffer little except for the sudden stitches in my 
 arm, thank you/' answered Nevere, as he resumed his 
 work on the portrait. "A little more to the left, Lady 
 Trent. There, that is better. Keep that just a little, 
 please; I like that pose of the head." 
 
 "Mother," said Trent, "I saw Miss Pembroke in a 
 cab on Champs Elysees." 
 
 "No doubt, my son; this is her lesson hour." 
 
 "She had a large bunch of roses lying upon her lap, 
 and, mother, she a.nd the roses were exactly of the same 
 tint." 
 
 "She has a real English complexion," replied Lady 
 Trent. 
 
 She was much pleased that her son had noticed this 
 Miss Pembroke, for, though a tiny straw, it thus far 
 showed the direction of the current of his mind. 
 
 Nevere went to the window and changed the curtain 
 drawn across for one of a very delicate rose, saying: 
 "It makes little difference about these curtains at this 
 stage of the work, but I like to see the effect in shading, 
 if I am only in the charcoal period." 
 
 Just as Nevere again worked, Trent said: "Mother, 
 as I left home this afternoon, a few steps from our door 
 I met Madame Nitolsk." 
 
 That Lady Trent was far from pleased with the 
 mention of this name by her son, and in one of his hap- 
 piest veins, Nevere read in the zigzag lines of the inter- 
 
 157
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 mezzo between the two acts of repose. He waited for 
 the emotion to pass, and for the time of the second 
 repose, by taking his box and knife from a stand near 
 by and sharpening his charcoal, but the time of sharp- 
 ening was perforce long drawn out, for Lieutenant 
 Trent went on: "She is a handsome woman, mother." 
 
 Nevere pretended to look at his easel and then at 
 Lady Trent, and again at his work upon the easel, pre- 
 sumably for purposes of artistic comparison, but in real- 
 ity to see the regard in which Lady Trent held the name 
 of Madame Nitolsk; and, though a very conservative 
 man, he inwardly admired the excellent judgment of 
 Lady Trent in preferring her son's acquaintanceship with 
 Miss Pembroke to his notice of Madame Nitolsk. Yes, 
 he would tell the bit of servant gossip. 
 
 "Permit me," said Nevere, laying aside the basket 
 in which he kept his charcoal refuse. "There, Lady 
 Trent, a little to the right again, please; I want that 
 shadow on the hair. If you will listen, I can entertain 
 you with something apropos of that young American 
 singer." 
 
 "Miss Pembroke?" asked Lady Trent. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Pembroke," said Nevere. "I should not 
 call her the singer, but at Maestro Novara's she is called 
 the American singer." 
 
 "Go on, my man," put in Trent; "we are not averse 
 to a bit of news, if it should be only gossip that is sol- 
 dierly," he added, and he concluded with a soldier's 
 merry laugh. 
 
 "Well," said Nevere, "I heard to-day that Miss Pem- 
 broke has just fallen heir to a very large fortune a 
 fortune that makes her one of the richest women in the 
 world." 
 
 "Truly !" exclaimed Lady Trent, who had lost herself 
 enough to have turned entirely around, and now stood 
 
 158
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 facing the artist, who also stood facing his model and 
 smiling at Lady Trent, and then at Lieutenant Trent. 
 The latter, while betraying little emotion, was yet visibly 
 pleased with the news. 
 
 "That is excellent for her," said Trent. 
 
 Though Lady Trent had uttered but the one word 
 "Truly" it was so strongly exclaimed that Nevere knew 
 it bore much of importance to Lady Trent. But had he 
 known nothing of this, the elasticity enlivening the mus- 
 cles of her face and form had sufficed for a correct read- 
 ing of the delight Lady Trent felt at news of the for- 
 tune of Julia Pembroke. Nevere glanced at his drawing 
 and then at Lady Trent, and thought what wonderful 
 effects delight, happiness and all kindred emotions can 
 produce upon the human organization. He also thought 
 it a happy arrangement in the economy of things, that 
 the artist was free to catch any mood he chose while 
 producing lights and shadows with his colors. He was 
 a great artist, and worked subjectively as well as objec- 
 tively. 
 
 His eye traveled to Trent and rested quietly upon 
 him while he asked: "Had you heard it, Lieutenant?" 
 
 "No, I had not; I hope it is true. May I ask where 
 you learned it?" 
 
 "You may ask, but I am not proud to tell you that 
 I have only two servants as authority; yet I am happy 
 to give you the exact account, as I learned it." 
 
 Then Nevere related all his servant, Paul, had given 
 him, after which he playfully added: "If I were of her 
 day and generation, I think I should lay siege to her 
 heart." 
 
 Trent laughed and then said: "What matters the 
 disparity of a few years." 
 
 "No, not for me," answered Nevere. "No real hap- 
 piness ever came from a marriage between generations, 
 
 159
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 whether that were the first or the sixth or any generation 
 or fractional generation between. I have noticed that 
 there are enough griefs when the contracting parties 
 are of the same generation; but, alas! when otherwise, 
 it is always true that the younger companion languishes, 
 pines, dies or divorces." 
 
 And had he and Lieutenant Trent been alone, he 
 had added that other condition, obtaining most fre- 
 quently in these unnatural marriages. 
 
 "Sometimes the old have better physique and more 
 vigor than the younger," opposed Trent. "I mean to 
 live to a good old age and be hale and hearty. See!" 
 and he straightened himself as if on duty in a dress 
 parade, with the finished buoyancy of the touch of his 
 left palm upon the hilt of his old English sword. 
 
 "It is certainly a happy view that you take of the 
 inevitable ravages of Father Time," observed Nevere, 
 for sure he felt that one of his weak physical organiza- 
 tion could not hope for more than his three score years 
 and ten. 
 
 "Well, I am a better soldier when I entertain this 
 view of longevity." 
 
 "Ah, a philosopher, I see!" the artist mused, half to 
 himself. 
 
 "No, I am not a philosopher; I am only a soldier, 
 nothing more." 
 
 'Terhaps you are right," commented Nevere, "but 
 I'll wager you are something more than a soldier." 
 
 "Something more than a soldier!" ejaculated Trent, 
 almost indignantly, for he was proud of his soldier char- 
 acter, and for the title of English soldier he would have 
 suffered most savage torture; for to him nothing was 
 superior to the private in the rank and file, except it 
 were the officer who led the private on to victory or 
 helped him to endure defeat. 
 
 160
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 It is a very impressive fact that the bond of love 
 existing between the soldiers, who, shoulder to shoulder, 
 guard and protect the interests and institutions of a coun- 
 try, is a bond inseverable. 
 
 Nevere explained himself no more fully, and Trent 
 asked: "Nevere, what am I that is more than a soldier?" 
 
 "A man," replied Nevere calmly; then, looking 
 askance at Trent, he said, with an interrogative, though 
 kindly smile and intonation : "You know what it is to be 
 a man ? I shall answer for you, and say, 'Certainly I do.' 
 Then I ask you again which is greater, to be a man or 
 to be a soldier?" 
 
 An hour later a handsome landau, drawn by a splen- 
 did span of black horses, dashed off the Boulevard 
 Malesherbes. In the landau were Lady Trent and her 
 son, on their return from the studio o Nevere. 
 
 "Ah," said Lady Trent, "I can not exactly explain 
 why, but I have always felt that this Julia Pembroke 
 was more than an. ordinary American girl." 
 
 "Yes, mother; I have heard you make that observa- 
 tion before." 
 
 "She must be a descendant of some early English 
 colonist to the States some member of a titled family, 
 who perhaps went to the gold fields of California. 
 I am glad she has gotten this fortune. I should prefer 
 seeing her married than a singer, for she seems peculiarly 
 fitted to make an efficient wife." 
 
 Then she looked out at the side of the carriage on 
 which her boy sat, that she might see if he was espe- 
 cially interested, and she thought that he was. Trent 
 was fearless as he was brave, and if he himself had 
 known his mind regarding Julia, he would quickly have 
 told his mother the exact situation. As it was, he only 
 remained quiet.
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "You have met thousands of young women, my son. 
 Have you never thought that you preferred one woman 
 above others?" 
 
 "No, mother dear, 1 have never found a woman like 
 my mother, and I can not marry until I do. I enjoy the 
 society of many ladies of many nationalities, but I have 
 yet to find the woman whom I could love and at the same 
 time ask you, mother dear, to accept as your daughter." 
 
 While saying this he held his mother's hand with a 
 lover's warmth of feeling, and when he had finished 
 speaking he kissed it reverently. 
 
 "Ah! you must not look for perfection, my son, and 
 I do think that at your age it is natural you should 
 begin to take upon yourself the duties, the honors and 
 the privileges of all who organize that little community 
 the home which is the unit upon the collection of which 
 units our kingdom is built and maintained." 
 
 "Yes, mother; I have often thought to attempt, but 
 I have always deferred, until I feel inadequate to the 
 cause." 
 
 "It is a great cause, my child, and should receive 
 your careful consideration. I hope during this visit 
 home you may find some congenial young woman who 
 may become the wife of my Reginald." 
 
 "I'll try, mother." 
 
 "Very well, my son; that is all you can do; but do 
 not be too particular." 
 
 "Mother, I want a wife who will fill the position of 
 wife to the soldier Trent." 
 
 "She need not be different from the woman who 
 would fill the position of wife of Reginald Trent, were 
 he Lord Trent." 
 
 "No, I understand, mother, but" 
 162
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "God bless you, my boy, and may you choose your 
 wife with as much discretion as a general would his 
 forces for duty at a most valued position." 
 
 "What if I should choose an American, mother?" 
 
 Lady Trent looked at him quickly, but his face was 
 smiling broadly, and she judged it to be only a pleas- 
 antry, such as those in which he frequently indulged. 
 
 "It might not be objectionable," she replied; "but I 
 think our dear, little, all-sufficient island has upon it 
 some sweet English maiden, whose charms and whose 
 character can not but satisfy the most exacting demands 
 Reginald Trent and his mother may make." 
 
 "Don't be uneasy, mother ; I have no relish for Amer- 
 ican women unless they come to Europe, and profit when 
 they do come. As they are in the raw state, I have never 
 seen one who was not snobbish, or silly, or coarse, when 
 not vulgar." 
 
 "Oh, Reginald; what do you think of Julia Pem- 
 broke?" 
 
 "Julia is different she came to Europe, has lived 
 here six years and has profited under the influence and 
 customs of the polite society of Europe and, mother, I 
 judge she owes much of her success in correct deport- 
 ment to the advice of Madame Cinati, who would tell 
 her something as to how she should deport herself." 
 
 "My son, Julia Pembroke has studied etiquette in the 
 finest convent in Europe, and she still goes there every 
 week. She knows Baronne Staffe's book on etiquette 
 from beginning to end. 
 
 "Well, mother, I think favorably of Miss Pembroke, 
 but I had not given her the slightest consideration in the 
 light of a possible successor to my mother." 
 
 "I am quite sure that for some unaccountable reason 
 I am particularly pleased with her, and now, should she 
 be as rich as Monsieur has heard, she is certainly a mag- 
 
 163
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 net for some aspiring child of the titled world. Her 
 wealth may bolster up some poor, decayed estate, if the 
 family itself is beyond reclaim, and, in return, Julia 
 can have a twinkling coronet, with all its encumberments, 
 which, to a cultivated American girl of Julia Pembroke's 
 type, would be worse than death/' commented Lady 
 Trent. 
 
 "I may see fit to offer her mine, before some other 
 European, less fortunate than myself, succeeds in selling 
 his trumpery to her." And Trent laughed at his gar- 
 rulity, lightly given. 
 
 Lady Trent smiled, and said, thoughtfully: "We will 
 look around among our own people first; afterwards we 
 may consider our kith from beyond the sea. Now I 
 shall run up to see Julia and hear from her the truth or 
 falsity of Nevere's bit of news." 
 
 "Very well, mother ; I'll not go." 
 
 The carriage had driven in at the great gates, and 
 the footman had opened the door. Trent got out and 
 gave Julia's number, and the beautiful dull-black crea- 
 tures pranced gaily around the pink marble fountain in 
 the center of the court, then out as the iron doors swung 
 back for their exit. 
 
 Trent lit his choice Havana and drew up a cozy arm- 
 chair close to the pretty little fire, blazing upon the care- 
 fully tended hearth, all the while thinking: "With a 
 mother brave enough to lead her son as my mother led 
 me to think of my duty as an Englishman, I am safe. 
 Such a woman can not have a foolish son. She did it 
 so sweetly, so gently, yet so certainly, that I was led 
 to thinking seriously upon the subject without at all sus- 
 pecting she was learning just where and how I stood 
 with regard to my choice of a life companion. Mother, 
 mother, I shall never betray your trust in me. I shall 
 marry a woman of whom you will approve." He paused, 
 
 164
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 his manner grew animated "Though Madame Nitolsk 
 is a very attractive woman, in and of herself, I should 
 find it impossible to place her as my mother is now 
 placed. No, though taken alone she is pleasing and ca- 
 pable of arousing some sort of warmth, I could never 
 think of her as a possible wife." 
 
 He arose, laid the unfinished cigar upon the smoking- 
 tray, then started to walk around the room, as was his 
 habit when having some matter of weight under consid- 
 eration. 
 
 "No, I will not think of her; I will not visit her 
 again." 
 
 He was resolved as to this. Well for Lieutenant 
 Trent that Madame Nitolsk was not near, for were she 
 he would not so calmly buckle on his armor and fly from 
 the enemy's country ; but she was not in close touch, and 
 her influence seldom went beyond her presence. With 
 Julia Pembroke all was different. He felt certain that 
 he could love her devotedly; but he knew that Hampton 
 Alverstone was not a little enamored of her charms, for 
 this he had seen on the evening at the Opera. But, then, 
 Alverstone was a plain American, and Julia might be 
 like many of her countrywomen anxious to possess a 
 title. In this he could surpass Alverstone, for he, Regi- 
 nald Trent, could introduce her to the best of European 
 aristocracy, and he could ask her to become the wife of 
 Sir Reginald Trent, heir to the earldom of Essexby, 
 descendant of one of the noblest families of England, 
 nephew of Prince and Princesse de Loire, one of the 
 medieval houses of France, and brother of the Duchess 
 of Strasburg, whose social position in Germany was 
 consequently very high. He could introduce her to all 
 the polite society of England and on the Continent as 
 well. And his mother's consent was almost assured, for 
 
 165
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 a strong mutual friendship existed between his mother 
 and Miss Pembroke. 
 
 When to his worth should be added what Julia Pem- 
 broke was able to give the innate charm, the inherent 
 worth and the unexcelled accomplishments of herself, 
 he felt he could present her as his wife in any court in 
 the world. And to her personal charm she could add 
 great wealth, which fact enhanced the situation much. 
 Though the Trents had always possessed enough for the 
 discharge of every duty devolving upon them, the great 
 wealth to which Nevere said Julia was now heir was 
 surely no objection. 
 
 He speculated not upon the mill wherein the fortune 
 of Julia might have been gristed. He lit another Havana 
 and sat down again. He would not tell Alverstone of 
 this news of Julia Pembroke's fortune. For, though 
 Alverstone had great wealth himself, there was no telling 
 how much more he would be glad to have. No, he 
 would look into this matter, and perhaps before he should 
 return to India he might be able to tell his mother that 
 at last he had chosen his wife. 
 
 He sat and smoked for some little time, when his eye 
 chanced to fall upon a letter on a tiny tray upon the oak 
 stand near by. He looked more closely and saw it was 
 a letter from some one in mourning. He arose, picked it 
 up and read that it was for himself. On opening, he 
 read an invitation from Madame Nitolsk for a reveillon. 
 
 "Mr. Alverstone to see Lieutenant Trent," announced 
 the butler. 
 
 "Show him in here, John," said Trent, in reply to their 
 old English butler, whom they always took with them 
 on journeys to Paris. 
 
 As Alverstone entered, Trent went toward him and 
 put out his hand, saying: "Glad to see you, Alverstone. 
 
 166
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 I have been sitting here alone, smoking, dozing and at 
 the same time under the spell of a reflective mood." 
 
 Alverstone laughed quietly, and then said: "Perhaps 
 it were better that I should not intrude upon such an 
 hour." 
 
 "On the contrary, Alverstone, I am glad you came. 
 Here is a fine chair ; it is the especial delight of my uncle 
 when he smokes and looks at the fire," said Trent, laugh- 
 ing. "Now, you be the Prince. Do you ever smoke 
 Havanas? These are fine ones." 
 
 "No," said Alverstone; "I prefer cigarettes." 
 
 "In that case they are here, too," and Trent opened 
 his pocket-case, and soon they were smoking, as if that 
 were the business of life. 
 
 "I just had an invitation from Madame Nitolsk," 
 remarked Trent, handing Alverstone the invitation. "Of 
 course, you got one?" 
 
 "Yes, I did; but I can not accept, for I shall be in 
 Belgium on that date." 
 
 "In the States, I presume, you do not have Christmas 
 parties after this fashion?" 
 
 "No," answered Alverstone; "at least, not the Prot- 
 estant portion of us. Let me see. Here the guests attend 
 the Opera or the theater or some church and then go 
 to some party at midnight is that it?" 
 
 "Yes, that is the fashion here." 
 
 Between pretty rings and fleecy clouds and puffs, all 
 made of dainty, ethereal smoke, they put little pleas- 
 antries and friendly converse, until Alverstone suddenly 
 remembered an engagement he had at that hour. He 
 said as much and got up to go. 
 
 Trent took out his watch and said : "Yes, it is" 
 
 "What a fine charm!" interrupted Alverstone, laying 
 hold on a gold lyre. He looked up at Trent and said: 
 "Where did you get this?" 
 
 167
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Trent was dashed for an instant, and, not wishing to 
 tell that he had it from Madame Nitolsk, was at a loss 
 as to what he should make answer. He looked sternly 
 at Alverstone for a moment, and he thought he detected 
 an unpleasant humor in his friend. He was certain it 
 must be that the sight of the lyre had caused it. Per- 
 haps Alverstone had seen it in Madame Nitolsk's pos- 
 session. 
 
 "You have seen it before?" questioned Trent. 
 
 "No, I think not," replied Alverstone. 
 
 "I'll tell you of it some future time," said Trent. 
 
 Alverstone turned and went toward the door. 
 
 168
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 As Lady Trent approached the door of Julia's apart- 
 ment, she heard her singing softly a part from the duet 
 of the fourth act of "Romeo and Juliet," while accom- 
 panying herself upon the piano. 
 
 Julia answered the ring and Lady Trent was given a 
 very cordial reception. 
 
 "I have come to fetch you to dinner," said Lady 
 Trent, after due exchange of conversation. "We can not 
 accept a refusal." 
 
 "I should be happy to do so," said Julia, leading 
 Lady Trent to a comfortable chair, which she drew before 
 the fire ; then she adjusted a screen that might shield 
 Lady Trent from the force of the bed of living coals. 
 
 "Let me remove your furs," said Julia. 
 
 "No, I must not remain long. You will go with me?" 
 
 "I am sorry, but I can not, Lady Trent. I must 
 study this fourth act carefully, for the maestro knows to 
 a nicety if I study much or little." 
 
 "Do enjoy yourself, child; do not study so hard. 
 With that great fortune you ought not think of a career. 
 You might pardon me, Julia, for I love you dearly, if I 
 have known you but five days, and I would advise you as 
 would a devoted mother." 
 
 Seeing Julia about to speak, she put up her hand in 
 token of silence on Julia's part, while she went on: 
 "When I was your age I hoped for a career." 
 
 Lady Trent ceased speaking and looked at Julia, who 
 stared in unconcealable amazement. 
 
 "Yes," she went on, in a bright manner, which gave 
 no evidence of regrets for the abandonment of her youth- 
 
 169
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 ful hopes: "I hoped to be a voice teacher; I wished to 
 be just such a one as is the celebrated Madame Mathilde 
 Marchesi. You know her?" she interrogated. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I have attended some of her auditions," 
 replied Julia. 
 
 "She was my inspiration. I felt that were I to do for 
 London what she has done for Paris, I should be the 
 happiest woman on earth; with this difference, however, 
 I wished to remain single, for it occurred to my mind 
 that a family and its cares might interfere with the suc- 
 cess of my school of song." 
 
 "I knew you were a great patron of our art," replied 
 Julia ; "but, truly, I had no idea you qared for it so much 
 as that." 
 
 "No, few could think of me as interested in anything 
 like a career, I know. But had I followed my girlhood 
 notions I should not be the mother of a soldier boy, nor 
 of a splendid girl, both of whom are all I could desire; 
 and, too, there is such an indescribable, such a supreme, 
 happiness in being the loved wife of some good man. 
 The better he is the better the condition. Of course, 
 there are many marriages which prove sad trials to both 
 husband and wife, and some that are utter failures ; but 
 that should constitute no reason for one preferring cel- 
 ibacy to married life, not a whit more than that persons 
 should decide not to live at all, because some persons are 
 afflicted with a mild disease and others are sorely 
 afflicted, peradventure unto death, with an incurable 
 malady." 
 
 Suddenly rising, she said: "Then you think you can 
 not go with me?" 
 
 "I thank you very much, Lady Trent, and I regret my 
 inability to accept ; but I can not to-day," replied Julia. 
 
 "You will come some other day, soon, will you not?" 
 said Lady Trent, allowing Julia to adjust her furs.
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "But," said Julia, while fastening the furs, still hold- 
 ing to the clasp and looking coaxingly into Lady Trent's 
 eyes, "you will tell me where or of whom you learned 
 of my news from America ?" 
 
 "Monsieur Nevere told me," answered Lady Trent. 
 
 "Monsieur Nevere!" repeated Julia, in consternation, 
 for this was a stroke, indeed. "Monsieur Nevere ! Why, 
 how could he know it?" exclaimed Julia, as much to her- 
 self as to her visitor; for she was running through her 
 mind the thread by which it were possible that he should 
 know it. A lawyer, she thought, was in duty bound to 
 keep secret, matters pertaining to a client's affairs, at least 
 affairs which had not become public. 
 
 "Monsieur Nevere's butler has a cousin in the office 
 of your attorney," explained Lady Trent, "and the but- 
 ler told Monsieur Nevere that the office boy had over- 
 heard the attorney say that you had a great fortune left 
 you." 
 
 "I must see Monsieur at once," said Julia, decidedly, 
 "and I shall ask him not to disclose this to any one else." 
 
 "Why?" asked Lady Trent. 
 
 "It is a difficult matter," said Julia, warmly, "for a 
 girl with much money to be able to sing. I have found 
 here that the persons who have money find it impossible 
 to interest the teachers in their voices." 
 
 "Why, how strange ! Are you sure this is quite true?" 
 said Lady Trent, in hushed surprise. 
 
 "I have seen this to be the case during all my years 
 of study. To be successful in musical circles one must 
 have influence, and to have those in power interested 
 in one there must be an appearance of limited means." 
 
 "Well, well ! that is dealing in art for art's sake 
 alone." 
 
 "I presume not," answered Julia; "but I think, on 
 close observation it will be proven that I have spoken the 
 
 171
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 truth. My teacher is very much interested in me now, 
 but I should not like to take my chances were he to learn 
 that I might inherit much money." 
 
 Lady Trent's fine eyes sparkled with a happy light. 
 
 "I do not wish to be inquisitive, but may I ask from 
 whom you inherit this fortune?" 
 
 "It is from the estate of a bachelor uncle in Cincin- 
 nati, who left eighty millions, together with the income 
 from the gold mines in California. These latter were the 
 property of my father. I had a stepmother, but she and 
 her children died of a fever, so that I am sole heir to my 
 father's estate. No one except father ever thought these 
 gold mines would yield much profit, but three years ago, 
 my attorney in Chicago reports, they became quite valu- 
 able." 
 
 "That is very nice, I am sure," said Lady Trent, 
 quietly; for, though much pleased with Julia's good for- 
 tune, especially with her great fortune, she betrayed by 
 no outward sign that she was unspeakably happy with 
 this new argument in favor of Miss Pembroke when 
 next the subject of Reginald's marriage should be 
 broached. 
 
 Lady Trent went out very well satisfied with the 
 result of her visit. She was not a woman of the busy- 
 body order; but she was at present especially interested 
 in the welfare of two beings whom she loved the one 
 -with a mother's undying love, the other with a love more 
 than that of friendly interest. She told herself for she 
 was a clever woman that she thought she would like to 
 see her son married to just such a woman, but that, 
 naturally, deep down in her nature there lay a preference 
 for an English woman with Julia Pembroke's character. 
 
 When Alverstone left the mansion of Prince de Loire, 
 Lieutenant Trent was certain that he had quite a formid- 
 
 172
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 able rival in the person of Hampton Alverstone. He 
 decided that he must be up and on duty if he would accom- 
 plish the desired end he now had in view. Yes, he would 
 go to Nevere and ask the artist to take him along when 
 he went to the Maestro Novara's to play for Miss Pem- 
 broke. 
 
 It is strange, but, knowing the line along which one 
 mind will work to gain a certain result, the line along 
 which all minds are likely to work to gain that same 
 point is assuredly known. 
 
 Trent at once had decided to pursue exactly the same 
 course as that followed by Alverstone when he had 
 sought means by which to be in intimate relation with 
 Julia Pembroke. So Trent put off in haste to see Nevere. 
 
 When Trent entered Nevere's studio he was greeted 
 in a hearty manner. It was Nevere's custom to make all 
 who entered his apartments remember him Nevere, the 
 great portrait painter not for his art alone, but as well 
 for that blessed characteristic brilliant amiability. No 
 one could soon forget the sunny disposition with which 
 he brightened the world of those who came into his home. 
 
 Trent took a seat beside him and watched Nevere 
 work, for he was putting the finishing touches to a por- 
 trait of a Madame Sternman, of New York. 
 
 After many topics were discussed and artistic remarks 
 passed there was a lull in the conversation. Nevere kept 
 steadily touching the portrait, while Trent watched him. 
 
 After a period of marked silence Trent spoke. "Do 
 you think you can take me to hear you and Miss Pem- 
 broke when you play for her at the maestro's? You see, 
 I should love to hear her sing, and the old fellow will 
 not allow her to sing for any one at all. If I hear her 
 and I am anxious to hear her voice I must hear her at 
 the master's during lesson hour." 
 
 173
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "No," said Nevere, curtly; "I tried that once, and I 
 assure you I'll not try it again, for it was very illy 
 received by Novara. I dare not attempt it again." 
 
 "Some Miss to see Monsieur Nevere," said the butler, 
 who had entered and stood a little inside the door. 
 
 "Miss who, Paul?" 
 
 "I do not know, Monsieur," weakly replied the cha- 
 grined domestic. 
 
 "Show the Mademoiselle into the salon and I'll be 
 there instantly." 
 
 Paul departed, and Nevere, suiting the action to the 
 word, entered his boudoir, and, laying off his working 
 jacket, donned his coat. As he came out of the boudoir 
 he said: "Here, Trent, paint until I return. I shall not 
 be away long." He laughed lightly at his joke, but 
 Trent, as if taking a command from a superior officer, 
 took up several brushes and tubes of paint. Then adjust- 
 ing the palette over his thumb, wijth the agility of a 
 trained soldier in the heydey of manly strength he 
 mounted the scaffolding in front of a large painting 
 standing to one side of the room, and upon which Nevere 
 had as yet put only a few hours' work. He began to 
 paint vigorously, imitating every motion of an earnest 
 artist. 
 
 Nevere paused to laugh, which he did heartily, and 
 then passed out in a happy humor to meet the Miss 
 "Somebody" the miss with the name which had proved 
 the Waterloo of the French butler's strife with the Eng- 
 lish language. 
 
 As soon as the portieres had fallen together behind 
 Nevere, Trent's mind took on exclusively the thoughts 
 which stirred every portion of the gray matter of his 
 brain. Now that Nevere refused to take him to hear 
 Julia, and as he could not trust to the chance meetings 
 in society, he must meet her at her daily work. This 
 
 174
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 was the only course to pursue. He would ask Nevere 
 who her language teacher was, and her other teachers. 
 In that way he might have a chance meeting. "Pshaw !" 
 he inwardly ejaculated; "I could storm and take a fort 
 easily and quickly, but to storm a woman's heart what 
 a task, when the woman is of this type the type my 
 mother adores!" 
 
 He descended quickly from his seat at the top of the 
 steps and walked toward a chair. When about to sit 
 down his eyes fell upon the portrait of the little child, 
 Adino, which portrait his mother had admired at her sit- 
 ting. He stepped across and stood before it. While look- 
 ing at Adino's portrait his eyes raised to the Oriental 
 hanging behind, which hanging covered a life-sized por- 
 trait. With his right hand he lifted the drapery and saw 
 the portrait of Madame Nitolsk. Her eyes were fastened 
 upon him and burned into his very soul. He laid the 
 drapery upon the frame, then stepped back to view the 
 mother and child. He gazed long at the woman. "Yes, 
 she has a strangely fascinating beauty, but I dare not 
 love her. Mother, your verdict rings clear. She would 
 not make a good wife for Reginald Trent." 
 
 "He turned abruptly. What was that? He could not 
 help hearing. Who was speaking, and why was she here? 
 It was the voice of Miss Pembroke. It came from the 
 direction of the salon. It was very distinct. She must 
 be near the door, where she had paused, no doubt, in the 
 act of leave-taking. 
 
 "I will go along the hall and go out with her. Fine 
 luck! fine, indeed. Now, Reginald Trent, be a soldier; 
 be on duty!" 
 
 "Ah, Miss Pembroke, /what an unexpected pleasure I" 
 said Trent, as, hat in hand, he made Julia a salute. 
 
 Julia, smiling, responded in a ringing, cheery voice: 
 "It is an unexpected pleasure to me, I assure you." 
 
 175
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "But I thought mother was with you." 
 
 "She was until a short time ago," replied Julia. 
 
 "But you were to return with her and take dinner 
 with us." 
 
 "I regret much, but I could not. It would be delight- 
 ful, I know. I had a lesson this hour, and I am on 
 my way home." 
 
 "Do not study so hard. Miss Pembroke; you will 
 spoil those beautiful eyes and wear out your nerves." 
 
 "I think not," said Julia ; "when one loves one's work 
 the pursuit of that work seldom injures the health." 
 Then turning to Nevere, she asked: "This meets your 
 approval, does it not, Monsieur Nevere?" 
 
 "You are quite right, Miss Pembroke," quickly replied 
 Nevere; but the tone was more serious than the ques-i 
 tion had made necessary. It changed at once as he went 
 on : "Lieutenant Trent, you must not discourage my song 
 bird. I am anxious to play for Mademoiselle Pembroke 
 when she sings at the Opera, which is soon." 
 
 "You shall play for me, Monsieur Nevere," rejoined 
 Julia, "and I shall sing, real soon, I think. I feel the 
 master will let me sing before long, although he has set 
 my debut a year from now next December." 
 
 "And are you thinking of another year's study, after 
 staying with that exacting old man these six long years ?" 
 asked Trent. 
 
 "Sh " said Julia, frowning and putting up her hand 
 in signal of silence. 
 
 Trent found himself thinking seriously of her beauty, 
 of her wealth and of her accomplishments. 
 
 "Good-bye, Monsieur Nevere ; good evening, Lieuten- 
 ant Trent," and Julia went out at the door, which the 
 butler was holding open, and which she heard close as 
 she went down the steps to the first floor. 
 
 176
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 On her way home from a lesson in stage deportment 
 Julia had gone to Monsieur Nevere's and had asked him 
 not to mention to any one of her fortune. And she had 
 told him that though the Trents did know, they would 
 keep the secret, for she had asked Lady Trent to do so. 
 
 As she stepped out upon the sidewalk and started 
 off at a brisk pace, Trent, who had come softly behind, 
 stepped beside her and begged permission to walk with 
 her. 
 
 Julia started, for she had not noticed his egress, and 
 had supposed she was alone. An annoyed expression, 
 unseen by Trent, flit across her face, but she did not 
 allow it to rest there. She was very fond of Trent's 
 parents, both for themselves and because they were very 
 dear friends of Madame Cinati, and she would not be 
 guilty of ungraciousness toward their son. 
 
 Julia and Trent walked on, Trent talking lively all 
 the while. He was in a happy frame of mind. On turn- 
 ing round the church of St. Augustine, Julia saw the 
 music store of Grus. When they had reached the store, 
 she stopped, and so did Lieutenant Trent. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," she began, "but I am going in 
 here to look for several pieces of music." 
 
 "I may go?" questioned Trent. 
 
 "No," objected Julia; "I shall be there some time, 
 and I shall be engaged at a work which is very tedious." 
 
 "You are too serious," he said by way of answer. 
 
 He wondered if this was a hoax. At any rate, his 
 mood was all changed from exhilaration to that of dog- 
 gedness. 
 
 "Good evening, Miss Pembroke." He saluted and 
 crossed the square, in the direction of the Rue la Boetie, 
 while Julia entered the Grus Magasin de Mttsique. 
 
 Just across the street was the tall, slender figure of 
 a very carefully groomed man, moving slowly. One who 
 
 177
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 might notice him would have judged him to be a person 
 without an objective point in view, for he was moving 
 so slowly that something of great interest to him must 
 be found somewhere in this neighborhood. Had the 
 observer been keener, he had seen that the pair who had 
 parted at the entrance to the music store had kindled a 
 fire in his eye which gave evidence of intense emotion 
 within. By a bit of insistence on the part of the onlooker 
 it were further seen that an artist, wishing to portray 
 jealousy, would offer great inducements to this young 
 man, whose entire being now took on the air of a man 
 out from whose life had gone the last ray of hope. It 
 was not jealousy alone that drew, twisted and distorted 
 horribly every fibre of every muscle and every nerve of 
 the lone stranger. It was a combination of two emo- 
 tions, either of which destroys entirely the being into 
 whose soul it enters. 
 
 The sculptor Vela, who, in order to get those strong 
 lines of Napoleon's blasted hopes, caused his betrothed 
 to aid him, by telling her at a moment of blissful trust 
 that she trusted in a faithless lover, might have spared 
 that beautiful fiancee had he found Hampton Alverstone, 
 as he stood gazing out the broad street after the vanish- 
 ing Lieutenant Trent. 
 
 Alverstone gazed long after Trent Trent, the debon- 
 air soldier Trent, the gallant lover Trent, the man of 
 rank Trent, the idol of all women. This was the man 
 whom fate had given him for a rival, and a rival upon 
 whom success was an attendant. To Alverstone it were 
 maddening to contemplate the probability of Julia Pem- 
 broke's marriage with another. 
 
 Why should not this Englishman seek his wife among 
 his own class? At any rate, among those of his own 
 nationality ? And why should it be that he himself should 
 have met so many hundreds of American girls, whose 
 
 178
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 fond mammas had evinced their willingness as plainly 
 as had "Barkis"? Yes, he had met these beautiful crea- 
 tures, so happy in giving him pleasure, and yet not until 
 he had met this hard student of song this ardent chaser 
 of a career had he been touched by the charms of fem- 
 ininity felt himself imprisoned totally incapable of ex- 
 tricating himself. 
 
 A little French child, hopping on one foot, looked up 
 at him for time enough to see that he was not happy. A 
 woman with a chair inverted upon her head, moved by 
 that peculiarly sympathetic feeling which the French are 
 quick to express for one they suspect of being in distress, 
 stopped the shrill cry of her trade for she was a chair 
 mender, and loudly called her trade in the streets and, 
 turning her eyes upon Alverstone, gave him compassion- 
 ate notice. She knew not for what, but he was a man 
 in distress, and she gave him that much assistance. 
 
 Perhaps who knows? that these little unknown 
 sympathies do not very materially aid one's progress 
 through many a slough of despond. We pray for the 
 blessing of God upon our lives, and who knows that this 
 blessing does not consist in one's being continually en- 
 vironed by influences such as these which now sur- 
 rounded Alverstone? 
 
 The child, pausing in its play; the working- woman, 
 leaving for a time that which to her was her livelihood, 
 both drawn toward him by the unhappiness depicted in 
 face and mien, could not but set at liberty some strange 
 influence which, though in a mysterious manner, just the 
 same did operate for the easement of Alverstone's fierce 
 feeling. 
 
 He wondered why it was that the terrible load which 
 had almost threatened self-destruction had suddenly lifted 
 and as suddenly slipped away. 
 
 179
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 When Julia left the music store the air had cleared, 
 as is its manner in that Parisian climate, for it does 
 clear as by magic, and she thought she would walk home. 
 She was not thinking of Trent, nor of Alverstone, but of 
 a beautiful child she had seen in the store. He had looked 
 at her with a pair of large, black eyes, the like of which 
 she had never seen, and which she was sure she could 
 never quite forget. How could she, when they seemed two 
 wells of a luminous depth, and they were unfathomable? 
 She had never looked into eyes of a beauty so rare 
 eyes which seemed living organisms, fully capable of 
 carrying on an individual existence, without dependence 
 upon vital organs. His hair was a mass of long blue 
 black curls, reaching almost to his waist. His skin, a 
 rich olive, with no tinge of red. The mouth, though 
 small, yet carried in its rose-leaf-shaped lips that alluring 
 charm which such treasures always hide. 
 
 Julia had looked long at the child, for she had been 
 seated at a table on which the clerk had been arranging 
 new musical compositions for her to examine, as was 
 the custom in the music stores she frequented, and where 
 she was known as a very promising lyric singer of the 
 school of Maestro Novara. 
 
 There had been quite a little flirtation, for the child 
 had been much pleased with the large, sympathetic blue 
 eyes, set in the white face, enlivened with the pretty glow 
 of healthy pink upon the cheeks, surrounded by a halo 
 of gold in the arrangement of the beautiful hair seen in 
 soft silken rolls. 
 
 "I wish I had spoken to him. He certainly was far 
 beyond the order or orders of children I have known. 
 There was something about him that reminded me of 
 some one I have met." 
 
 Then her healthy, elastic mind traveled on, from the 
 little boy to that other stage of a boy's existence that 
 
 1 80
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 stage in which if a woman fails to recognize the boy in 
 the man, at least to recognize the boy before her, she 
 is guilty of an unpardonable misdemeanor. 
 
 Why was it that to her Trent seemed no stranger? 
 She had never felt the least strangeness when near him. 
 It never occurred to her to entertain for him any feeling 
 unlike that one should have for another related by ties 
 of blood. Her thoughts took on the color of pretty atten- 
 tions shown her by other young men with whom she had 
 come in contact, either through the medium of study or 
 when with Madame Cinati; but no one of them had 
 ever had power to tempt her away from the goal she had 
 set as the mark at which to aim. 
 
 Then that subtle fluid which governs each little world 
 of each person, as well as the great world in which all 
 move thought sped on, on to that other person who 
 had so lately entered within the circle of her busy life 
 a life which she had mapped out, and which she intended 
 following, without the slightest change, to the end ; yet, 
 as all who observe know, there are few lives, indeed, 
 which show no change, no shifting, from the original 
 scheme. 
 
 Ah!" thought Julia; there was the exception; she 
 knew it. It was he this young American. This, to her 
 notion, perfection in man. She must not think of him 
 or art would vanish ; for love, like sickness, eats up ambi- 
 tion. 
 
 Julia had had suitors, for lyric singers like herself 
 always do. But it was not for this rare voice alone that 
 she had been thus importuned, though who would not 
 seek a nightingale which sang at the gates of Paradise ? 
 
 One of those whom she had refused was the Prince 
 di Pastanni. He was the dark Roman prince whom 
 Alverstone had found with Julia at the Trents' soiree. 
 
 181
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 His expressed devotion had been as intense as was his 
 nature, which was strong. He had proposed to her on 
 the evening of a dinner party given by Madame Cinati, 
 some two years since. Afterwards, though the prince 
 had made Julia feel this silent adoration whenever they 
 chanced to meet, this regard was never annoying, and 
 they had continued to be acquaintances. 
 
 Then, too, there had been a certain Russian noble- 
 man, with a fine, deep basso voice. He had studied with 
 the Maestro Novara when Julia had first entered the 
 school. He had boldly declared his love for her, but she 
 had been deaf to all his entreaties. His type had not 
 appealed to her in the least. The beautiful pathos of his 
 voice had spoken to her, and she had listened. But it 
 had passed as a wild rhapsody that, heard for the first 
 time, is too vast, and glides through the memory and is 
 lost. But this basso had not always remained a student 
 of voice. 
 
 One day, about three years after her entrance into the 
 maestro's school, she had found the old master very sad, 
 and when he had read part of a letter, just received, 
 tears had come into his eyes and had overflowed down 
 his cheeks. The Russo-Japanese war had broken out 
 and the artist-pupil with the deep basso voice was leaving 
 for the front. The master had shaken his head and had 
 said: "He is on his way to be killed or to die. His 
 voice ! his career ! Oh, art ! how multiform are the ob- 
 stacles that beset the pathway of those who would reach 
 thy shrine !" 
 
 And now at this moment, as Julia walked quickly 
 up the Avenue de Friedland, she was not thinking of 
 these suitors of the past, but of one who now disturbed 
 her every thought. It was a sweet annoyance, though 
 she tried to tell herself otherwise. This was the one 
 person for whom she felt as she had never before felt 
 
 182
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 for any man that mysterious intoxication of the heart 
 which makes the soul quiver. 
 
 From the first time she had looked across the table 
 in the Hotel Cecil, London, and had seen the stranger 
 facing her, she had loved him. She had fought this emo- 
 tion vigorously fought it as for her very life; yet her 
 thoughts would travel in that direction, and she had no 
 power to control them she felt swallowed up she felt 
 hopelessly lost lost beyond reclaim to her art, for she 
 told herself that a man like Hampton Alverstone, who 
 had only a passing interest in song, would never permit 
 his wife to go on with the work, without which she felt 
 she Julia Pembroke could not exist. 
 
 No, she would cast out all thoughts of this man ; but 
 she would acknowledge to herself, and to herself solely, 
 that no woman ever loved a man with a more genuine 
 love than this which she entertained for him. 
 
 No, she would think no more of him. She was a 
 strong character, and always did as she thought best. 
 
 Here she came out on the Champs Elysees, and was 
 reminded of the first time she had seen it. It had been 
 on a beautiful afternoon. The sun had been warming 
 and gladdening the thousands of men and women enjoy- 
 ing a promenade, and the hundreds of little folks, trot- 
 ting bravely by the side of the hurrying nurses and the 
 other little ones playing at ball, hoop or some other of 
 the numerous little games in which the child nature 
 delights to move. To Julia it had been a memorable 
 event that first sight of this great avenue. This great 
 gulf stream, which has an unnatural voice. For it is its 
 throng that is the great vocal cord of this artificial 
 organ ; its movement, its vast lungs ; but the propeller 
 the mind of this immense voice is not unnatural; it is 
 human; it is the volitions of a city of peoples, and that 
 
 183
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 is why the voice is unnatural; it is man's work. God 
 alone creates the natural. 
 
 And yet, what a sameness there is in this great gay 
 capital. To-day she saw on her walk home, and especially 
 upon the Champs Elysees Avenue, just what she had seen 
 upon that first day in Paris, and just what she had seen 
 every day for the past two thousand days which she 
 had spent in the vast metropolis. 
 
 Yet on this particular day it occurred to her keen 
 intellect, that to-day she might register as another day, 
 which, when viewed from some distant point in life's 
 picture, would equal, if not surpass, that memorable day 
 when she had first seen the Champs Elysees Avenue. 
 To-day marked a great struggle, for when a strong 
 woman loves and then decides that for art's sake she 
 can not marry, that is a turning point, not only in that 
 woman's career, but in that woman's influence for eter- 
 nity- , - ,-:J 
 
 As Julia entered the hall of her apartment house, on 
 La Perouse, and passed into the inner hall } the concierge 
 came out and handed her a letter. 
 
 This concierge was an unusually pretty French wom- 
 an, and very gracious on all occasions. Her lodge was 
 at the end of the inner hall, from which she had but to 
 look through the glass doors and see all who entered the 
 building. 
 
 One door of the concierge's lodge was always closed, 
 and behind it was placed a stand, upon which at most 
 hours o the day could be found a very beautiful Angora 
 cat Yalu by name. He had been given that name be- 
 cause he had come to live with the concierge at the time 
 of that victory in the Russo-Japanese war, during the 
 year 1904. Yalu was a very intelligent cat, and was on 
 duty during most of the day. No one came in at the 
 
 184
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 great front doors or descended the great staircase but 
 Yalu, whether awake or napping, arose and quickly re- 
 ported on his self-imposed duty, and, sitting up, stealth- 
 ily put back the curtain with his paw. Then he would 
 look out to see what was going on, and if anything 
 unusual was occurring, he manifested uneasiness ; other- 
 wise, he blinked and smiled and continued to rock and 
 nod on. 
 
 When Julia was in her own room she went directly 
 to the window, for the daylight was fast waning. She 
 opened the letter and read. It was an invitation from 
 Madame Nitolsk to be present at a reveillon Saturday 
 night at her residence, on Rue Caumartin. Should she 
 accept this invitation? She liked this young widow. 
 When they had first met in the conservatory at the Trents' 
 soiree, Julia had told herself there was something of a 
 disturbing nature something hidden about this beau- 
 tiful face. But after meeting her several times during 
 the past two days this unpleasantness had seemed to van- 
 ish, and the sad tenderness of her languid eyes had 
 sought Julia's sympathy and had gained it. 
 
 But now, if she went to this reveillon, whose hostess 
 was a friend of so short a time, she should meet others 
 who would be just as gracious, just as acceptable, and in 
 the course of time she should have to go to their social 
 functions, as she had to Madame Nitolsk's. No, she 
 would not accept this invitation. She could not be a 
 gossamer creature and live for that shimmering mirage 
 society. 
 
 As Julia stood in the gathering twilight, looking out 
 through the casement window upon the balcony beyond, 
 there was a far-away look in her eye and a sadness, half 
 delightful, seemed to breathe from her and settle like a 
 mystic cloak around her, as it often does when one is 
 on the eve of an eventful change. It was as a premoni- 
 
 185
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 tion, an instinctive foretelling, that is delectable because 
 it is unknown. 
 
 A chill seemed to creep over her. She turned quickly 
 from the window and went into the boudoir. A strong 
 draft of air blew in at the window. She waved her hand, 
 as if judging the temperature. The room seemed cold. 
 She went to the open window, but the outside air was 
 soft and caressingly gentle. Putting one foot on the bal- 
 cony, she stood in the shadow of the deep casement, with 
 one small white hand against a side of me open window. 
 From this second balcony a fine view of La Perouse, 
 Avenue d'lena and a part of the circling Rue de Pres- 
 bourg was presented. She looked around her at the 
 buildings, which speak not only of comfort, but of luxury. 
 She saw fine carriages drawn by prancing horses and 
 palatial automobiles flying swiftly down, Avenue d'lena. 
 Two dirty urchins, one a girl, the other a boy, passed over 
 on the avenue. They were swarthy creatures, with large 
 black eyes and blue black ringlets, that stuck out in irreg- 
 ular bunches from under battered felt hats. Every now 
 and then they stopped and counted the sous which they 
 had gained. Then the girl's laugh could be heard, and 
 they passed on, out of view of the second balcony. A, 
 priest passed up the Rue La Perouse; he wore the cus- 
 tomary frock, and he was reading his prayer book. A 
 woman, driving a four-in-hand tandem, raced up the 
 small street; she was as smartly unnatural as were the 
 overdocked tails of her horses. Her footman, who 
 perched behind, was taking a bird's-eye view of the city. 
 Evidently they were returning from the Bois, for by this 
 time it was half after four, and all the fashion of Paris 
 had left the Bois and its avenue. 
 
 This was Paris ; this was its life. Paris is a being 
 a people created it, and it breathes and exists like another 
 being. Paris, like man, has a soul its soul is its people. 
 
 1 86
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Paris has more than some men; it has an inner voice 
 for the mind of its people is its conscience. 
 
 Julia's quick, sensitive ear caught the sound of a 
 small fearful voice, which pleaded through violent sobs: 
 Don't whip me, papa; don't, don't, pa pa, pa pa, 
 papa pa pa" 
 
 Julia forgot all decorum and went out on the balcony 
 and leaned over the balustrade. There was a vendor of 
 artichoke and green peas, who had stopped his cart near 
 the curbing, just under her balcony, and was shaking a 
 small creature, which, shrank at each shake until it looked 
 like a very dwarfed urchin or a very overgrown rat. 
 
 "That's a nice way lose half my earnings wait till 
 we get home and and and I'll give you more." 
 
 The irate voice of the vendor rose higher and sharper 
 at each word. 
 
 "Papa papa pa pa" wailed the small voice. "I 
 did not see it some one must have" 
 
 "Yes you some one must have stolen it no one 
 steals from vendors you rascal," and, loosening his grip 
 of the child's coat, he cuffed first on one side and then 
 on the other, until the little one went backward unstead- 
 ily, and the father started up the street with his cart. 
 Still sobbing violently, the child began to turn his pockets 
 inside out. Nothing was to be found. He turned and 
 looked down the street, but no one was coming. He was 
 early learning the hard fact that money runs after no 
 one, be it king or beggar, saint or culprit. 
 
 The child wrung his hands as the angry voice of the 
 father called after him to hasten on. Trembling pite- 
 ously, and as if remembering a duty, he crossed himself 
 and started up the street. 
 
 Just then a two-franc piece rang on the pavement. 
 The child gave a start, for there lay his two-franc piece. 
 
 187
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 It had been dislodged from his clothing in some way. 
 The little one was too interested in the two-franc piece 
 to notice that this two-franc piece was not the lost one, 
 and that a figure upon the second balcony above had 
 heard and seen everything, and had thrown down the 
 bright new two-franc piece. 
 
 In delight he grabbed at it with two small hands, and 
 so eagerly that he seemed afraid it would run away or 
 might not be real. He looked at it over and over; it 
 looked like his two-franc piece. Every muscle drew back 
 in a stiff tension and his jaw opened wide. The lips 
 drew up and back and showed the teeth. The knitted 
 spot between the eyebrows smoothed out, for he was 
 smiling. 
 
 "Papa, papa," cried the small voice; "here it is; I 
 found it. Wait, papa ; here is the two-franc piece." And 
 he ran off up La Perouse. 
 
 Julia forgot where she was and that it was not dark, 
 in looking after the child and the vendor. Just then a 
 horseman coming off the avenue on to La Perouse saw 
 the girlish figure leaning over the balcony. He knew 
 who she was, but he would not put his horse to a run, 
 as had been his intention, for he wished to bow to her. 
 
 The patter of a horse's feet arrested her attention, 
 and Julia was conscious that some one was coming up 
 the street. Instinctively she drew back into the shadow 
 of the deep casement. 
 
 The rider lifted his hat and smiled. But his smile 
 was a searching one. Julia saw the upward movement 
 of the hand, and so looked again. It was Hampton 
 Alverstone, and she answered with a graceful inclination 
 of the head and a pleasing smile. Though an enchant- 
 ing light shone in her eye, the rider did not see it, for 
 the twilight shadows were fast gathering; but what he 
 
 188
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 
 
 did see was sufficient, for when she had recognized him 
 the hot color had suffused itself over the usually clear 
 pink of the cheek, and the searching expression of his 
 smile became a look of contentment, for the rising of deep 
 color and the upward turn and parting of lips are potently 
 allusive signs. 
 
 189
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 On this particular morning Friday, almost noon 
 Madame Nitolsk sat in her boudoir. This boudoir was 
 a veritable picture of what one finds as the boudoir of 
 those who would fain imitate Oriental furnishings. Beau- 
 tiful Oriental rugs upon the floor, divans, cabinets, tables, 
 draperies all of Oriental design and workmanship. 
 
 Rose-colored silk curtains hung at the windows, Ori- 
 ental knickknacks filled every table, stand, cabinet and 
 cranny. Cushions of unsurpassed beauty of elegance and 
 of costliness were scattered everywhere. And enlivening 
 the atmosphere was a most deliciously exhilarating scent 
 of some powerful perfume also Oriental. In truth, 
 one might have mistaken the place for the boudoir of 
 some princess of India, who had taken into her head 
 to add touches wholly European to those known to be 
 entirely Oriental. 
 
 But by one who has traveled beyond the boundary 
 of his own little farm or town, and who has seen the 
 real woman of India or other Oriental lands, Madame 
 Nitolsk would, not be mistaken for a woman of those 
 climes. But she was a fitting gem in that suggestively, 
 insinuating setting. She was dressed in a very close- 
 fitting, claret-colored silk Princess dress, with a train of 
 unusual length. The dress was cut high at the back of 
 the neck, while the front was carried low down to a 
 point, showing the chest some three or four inches 
 below the line where the neck and the chest meet. The 
 only touch of the dressmaker's skill that gave evidence 
 of the dress being one for the use of the boudoir alone 
 was the long, flowing sleeve, which, to suit the notion 
 of Madame Nitolsk, was tighter than should be from the 
 
 190
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 shoulder to the elbow, thus showing, as did the Princess 
 gown, the exact form of the part it so closely fit. Then 
 from the elbow the sleeve hung open and was longer and 
 fuller than ever had been any sleeve of that fashion, but 
 this was in keeping with her character, for everything 
 must be morbidly exaggerated. 
 
 Around her throat was a necklace of a collection of 
 various gems, and it was fastened by two large clasps 
 of dull gold, studded all over with priceless gems. 
 Around the left arm was a bracelet to match, and clasped 
 so tightly that the band sank deep into the pretty, well- 
 rounded arm. Beautiful gems flashed from both hands, 
 while upon her feet were to be seen dainty pointed slip- 
 pers of a rich satin, embroidered in a design and after 
 a fashion known only to the art of embroidery in the 
 Orient. The hair, which was rolled up from the face, 
 from the back, from the sides, and caught by jeweled 
 combs, confining every strand so artistically that the 
 circle formed by the joining of the separate gem-stud- 
 ded combs, together with the very smooth black hair, 
 formed, as it were, a cap at the crown of the head. The 
 dress, the jewels, style of coiffure, the color scheme 
 throughout, all told the character of the woman as plainly 
 as any word picture could possibly have done. 
 
 She sat there, seemingly reading a novel, but in reality 
 she was not reading a novel, but trying to read one. 
 She closed the book after several ineffectual attempts to 
 center her attention upon the doings of some morbid 
 character therein, which at another time would have 
 been most agreeable. But the morbidity of her own 
 nature served to quiet the most exacting desires for such 
 characters. No fiction was strong as the novel at this 
 time presenting itself in the form of her plan of action, 
 of which she was one of the principals, though not the 
 heroine. At last she threw aside the book and let her 
 
 "191
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 eyes rest upon a letter which lay upon a small, onyx 
 stand close by her side. Her lip curled in scorn, and 
 had she been a whit less guarded, she would have let 
 slip a growl of hatred. As it was, only the fierce tight- 
 ening of the muscles told that a deadly hatred burned 
 within her soul, and that the sight of this letter was 
 sufficient to endanger the reason of one more delicately 
 organized. 
 
 She took up the harmless bit of writing paper and 
 again read the regret. She thought, in scorn: "Yes, 
 Hampton Alverstone has manufactured this excuse. He 
 intends to go to Belgium on that day, for no reason but 
 that he might be able to send regrets instead of an accept- 
 ance." 
 
 She remembered how often within the past few days, 
 when she had met him, walking, riding, driving no 
 difference how or where he had avoided her. Her heart 
 was sore at the thought of it, but she was not the sort 
 of woman to submit calmly to defeat. No, indeed, she 
 would make this man love her, she hissed in thought; 
 at least he should never marry that Julia. She clutched at 
 her dress just over her heart and thought on. And 
 thoughts in the brain of such women as Madame Nitolsk 
 are dangerous and deadly, and often mean the bite of the 
 serpent or the sting of the adder. In truth, such women 
 study by day and by night how best they may carry out 
 their nefarious schemes, in which they take a special 
 interest; and the deeper the affair carries them into the 
 morbid fields of action the better they are satisfied. Such 
 women are at all times dangerous, and should never be 
 permitted to enter sacred precincts of heart or home. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk's love for Hampton Alverstone was 
 great, to be sure, but her hatred of an unsuspecting per- 
 son quite guiltless of doing a wrong was stronger. 
 She stopped not for reason to guide her as to where she 
 
 192
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 should strike for the offender. She knew that Hampton 
 Alverstone loved the young American, for on that dread- 
 ful night at the Trents' she had heard his declaration 
 of undying love, and, of course, judging Julia by herself, 
 she argued that he would not have done this had not 
 Julia led him to do so. 
 
 After all Madame Nitolsk's studies in the ways and 
 means by which, scientifically or otherwise, such women 
 attract men, she had never yet known the exquisite joy 
 the right of womanly woman in having a lover sue for 
 her hand in marriage. Sad to say, she had spent years 
 in her efforts to impress herself upon masculine notice. 
 But Madame Nitolsk did not know this type of man to 
 which Hampton Alverstone belonged. He cared noth- 
 ing for the insincere in any walk of life. He enjoyed 
 brightness of life and action, but not when divorced from 
 goodness. For years in India Madame Nitolsk had tried 
 to enslave the attentions of Hampton Alverstone, but 
 could not. Since her husband's death she had tried to 
 enslave the man himself, but this was another failure. 
 
 Her home in Paris was palatial. She had all that 
 wealth could buy, and her mirror told her that she was 
 far more than pretty it told her that she possessed great 
 beauty of her type, which type was the one most potent 
 to her notion, and it told her that hidden far within her- 
 self lay the real secret of success in her especial line. 
 
 Then why should an ordinary girl, working for a 
 career, be her successful rival? The thought was prepos- 
 terous, maddening, and was sure to bring down upon her 
 rival the pent-up hate such women are ever ready to 
 pour out upon those who chance to block their way or 
 in any wise oppose their plans. 
 
 In order that a more than acquaintanceship might 
 exist between Julia and herself she had endured those 
 
 193
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 lessons with the Maestro Novara. She knew that he 
 disliked her and that he was likely to turn her out of 
 his school almost any day. However, she had accom- 
 plished her purpose, for she thought she had made Julia 
 an admirer, if not a trusting friend, and she was sure 
 that Julia would come to her reveillon. True, this Ameri- 
 can singer had not yet sent in her acceptance, but she 
 would do so. Madame Nitolsk understood how little 
 leisure a student could have with such a master. What a 
 persistent character Julia was, she thought, to study with 
 that cross old man ! She could hardly hold herself to him 
 for a few days. To think of six years with him caused 
 her imagination to stagger. No, she was not able to 
 continue for long at any task. Indeed, she had never 
 had a task in her life, unless it had been that of living 
 with her husband after the first year. She had loved him 
 at the time of marriage, but she had tired of him before 
 the first year had gone by. In this she was like her 
 class. No, indeed, not for long would she accept this 
 Novara's arrangement that she must come at nine of the 
 morning. To think of it was appalling. Why, she had 
 to rise early, and she could not do that without spending 
 an hour in a nap some time during the afternoon; else 
 she must blink and blink all evening like an old owl. 
 But patience patience "who goes slowly goes surely" 
 the demon sang the old Italian proverb in at her ear. 
 She listened and obeyed, as she had done many times 
 before. 
 
 A stillness, only felt, always indescribable, seemed to 
 pervade the room, while she herself might be dead and 
 in the tomb so far as any sign of life was visible. She 
 sat quite still, with her feet upon the cushion, her elbows 
 resting upon the arms of the chair and her chin between 
 her thumbs and forefingers, while her head strained for- 
 ward as a panther when scenting its prey. The set eyes 
 
 194
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 looked not on anything without, but seemed to be gloat- 
 ing over a scene pictured within her brain. 
 
 "Oh, Madame! Madame! Madame!" shrieked the 
 nurse of Adino, as she ran into the room, wringing her 
 hands. She was frantic with terror, and suddenly 
 stopped, stood stark still and seemed to be unable to utter 
 another word. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk ran quickly to her, and, taking hold 
 of her arm, shook her repeatedly, crying : "Suzanne, what 
 has happened? What is it? Speak! speak!" But the 
 terrorized nurse remained as if stone dead. She seemed 
 to be paralyzed. Madame Nitolsk wondered if the woman 
 were mad. 
 
 "Suzanne," she commanded in a voice hoarse with 
 fear, "Suzanne, speak!" 
 
 "Oh! Madame! Madame! oh! oh! oh!" and the 
 nurse was silent again and seemed to be speechless for- 
 ever. 
 
 She shook all over, shook like a leaf, and her eyes 
 started from their sockets. 
 
 "Suzanne," cried Madame Nitolsk, "what is it?" 
 
 "Adino is dead !" screamed the half-paralyzed woman, 
 and with this great effort she grew purple in the face 
 and fell backward upon a pile of cushions. 
 
 "Dead! Oh, my God! dead!" shrieked Madame 
 Nitolsk, and her hands clutching distractedly at either 
 side of her head, still shrieking "Dead ! dead !" she 
 rushed out of her boudoir up to the bedroom of her little 
 son. 
 
 His nurse was a woman some forty years old, who 
 had been with Adino since his birth, and who cared for 
 him and loved him as if he were her own child. She 
 felt as stricken as did the real mother. Though by 
 nature a monster instead of a woman, Madame Nitolsk, 
 
 195
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 as such characters generally do, enfolded her child, with 
 a love that was little short of adoration. 
 
 The mother threw herself upon the child, beseeching 
 him to awake. But Adino, still more beautiful in this 
 unconsciousness, lay all unheedful of the piteous plead- 
 ings of his frantic mother. She rubbed the still limp 
 form and tried to take him in her arms, but when she 
 did so the head fell heavily and the long soft black curls 
 which adorned it hung down. Here the nurse, who was 
 a very strong woman, having overcome the severity of 
 the terrible shock, came into the room and begged Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk to replace the child upon the bed. She was 
 successful in her importunity, and the child was again 
 lying upon his little bed. 
 
 To all appearances he was dead the placid features, 
 the pallor of the skin, the extreme limpness, all said to 
 the mother : "Your Adino is not here his body is here, 
 but his soul is beyond recall." 
 
 "Suzanne, ' tell me," Madame Nitolsk had turned 
 toward the nurse, and her tone was keenly intense, "tell 
 me all you know." 
 
 "He was there, in his bed, when I came in to get 
 him, and he was sleeping so sweetly that I thought I 
 would let him have his sleep out. I crept out of the 
 room and took care not to let in much light. I came 
 back several times, but he slept on. At last I came, 
 intending to wake him. I drew back the night curtains, 
 and there he lay, just like that. I tried to wake him, 
 but I could not." 
 
 Then the nurse began to wring her hands helplessly, 
 and she sobbed : "Adino, Adino, my darling is dead." 
 
 "Dead, not dead," said Madame Nitolsk, in hollow, 
 half-uttered sound. And taking the small ashen face be- 
 tween her jeweled hands, she looked at it pain, joy, 
 anxiety, care, expectancy, pride, fear and love were min- 
 
 196
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 gled in that one look. All the sentiments and emotions 
 of a mother's devotion were in her face at that moment 
 of awful suspense. If this creature was not a woman, 
 she was a mother, and with one indescribable glance a 
 glance which stares helplessly into the darkness of uncon- 
 sciousness, a glance which recoils and yet clings, power- 
 less, while the relentless reality of death mocks at it and 
 dares it to action she bent over the silent form and 
 kissed it on the forehead and on the cheeks and again 
 on the forehead, as if this expressed adoration might 
 recall the hovering soul. 
 
 Then grasping at a ray of hope which at that moment 
 presented itself, she seemed half laughing and half cry- 
 ing. "He can not be dead, for death always leaves the 
 eyes wide open." Her splendid vitality served her well, 
 for the child's appearance, except for the placidity and the 
 pallor, appeared as that of deep sleep. His beautiful 
 eyes were not set in the horrible stare known as the 
 death-stare; but the lids covered them tightly, and the 
 long curving eyelashes swept the delicate cheeks, and 
 their tremulous beauty seemed to cling most tenderly to 
 the soft cheek, as if a premonition told them that ere long 
 they must cease forever to caress it. 
 
 "Draw back the day curtains from the windows and 
 let in all the clear daylight." 
 
 While the maid obeyed Madame Nitolsk's order, work- 
 ing quickly and carefully, the mother espied a tiny phial 
 beside the child, hidden in a fold of his night-robe. In 
 the twinkling of an eye Madame Nitolsk grasped the 
 entire situation and realized the cause of her child's con- 
 dition. 
 
 "Suzanne, Suzanne the chemist, the chemist. On 
 your life, Suzanne, quick, the chemist!" The nurse 
 rushed out. 
 
 197
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 To three other household servants who had come in 
 Madame Nitolsk gave orders to fetch hot water, medicine 
 chests and warm flannels. When she was alone she 
 picked up the bottle and put it in her bosom. She knew 
 this to be the secret of the trouble this scene of horror. 
 She ran back in her mind and remembered well when 
 and how this had happened. Her darling had been 
 neglected. She had forgotten to bid him good night in 
 his own room, and he had sought her in her room, and 
 she had been gone. He had seen the phial, for she now 
 recalled having dropped it on the floor. And it had 
 pleased his fancy and he had taken it to bed with him. 
 Of course, he had not let the nurse see it. 
 
 It was all horridly plain to her now. And in her 
 anguish she stood like a living statue. Great rushes of 
 color and pallor surged through her frame. Her eyes 
 glittered as she stared at the calm coldness of her child. 
 Her fingers dug into the flesh of her palms. And so 
 violent was this unexpressed agony that huge beads of 
 perspiration stood out upon her forehead. As before 
 noted, this creature was a mother, though a monster. She 
 had a heart, though she had not a soul. And this mute 
 grief was an interior conflict. It was not a remorse; it 
 was not a denunciation ; it was a convulsion, a melee of 
 accusing emotions a torment. For remorse is the wail- 
 ing of the soul, and denunciation is the rebuke of the 
 conscience. 
 
 She had done it. "Oh, God ! am I to kill my child ! 
 my own child !" 
 
 The exclamation was mechanical, not felt. Vile po- 
 tion ! Villainous chemist ! Accursed hour ! And who had 
 done it ? who ? What wretched thoughts ! They all had 
 echoes they blasphemed but one thing one person 
 they hissed slurs upon her they heaped crime upon her 
 they overwhelmed her with vivid actings of the mo- 
 
 198
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 tive they called her by her real name sorceress vam- 
 pire siren intriguer villain foul schemer infamous 
 soul viper in human flesh scum of the earth bedev- 
 iled female murderess homicide filicide Unhappy 
 wretch, perdition is yours. Take it, now that you have 
 made it. She shut her eyes and staggered back just a 
 few steps. An internal tremor had seized her. Every- 
 thing quivered about her. Her head began to swim, 
 and her skull seemed to be crushed into the matter of 
 the brain. 
 
 "What is it?" asked a low, insinuating voice behind 
 her. 
 
 She started. It was the chemist. 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur; Adino must have gotten into my 
 room last evening when I was at your place, and he 
 found the little phial" she broke off abruptly and looked 
 steadily at the pharmacist. He raised the ends of his 
 eyebrows and opened his almond-shaped eyes, then 
 looked at the limp form, and his face grew very grave. 
 
 "He had the little phial in the bed here," continued 
 Madame Nitolsk. "I suppose he sucked it, as a child 
 would, and he has gotten the few drops that had run 
 down from the inside of the bottle." 
 
 "Was the phial the one I gave you, or larger?" asked 
 the chemist, in a sepulchral voice. 
 
 "No," replied Madame Nitolsk, producing the phial. 
 "It was not the one you gave me ; it is a trifle smaller." 
 
 "Ah, I see; the amount was small, but he is a child, 
 and a very delicate child at that, and the potion is pow- 
 erful." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk felt Adino's pulse and then laid her 
 ear to his breast. "Are you sure he is not dead?" she 
 asked. "Can not you do something? Do not stand and 
 let him die. Give him something recall him to life! 
 Save him save him!" 
 
 199
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 i 
 
 There was something sublimely maternal in the 
 pleading, outstretched palms, as she turned her head and 
 looked at her child. 
 
 "And if he is dead," she went on, her eyes glared; 
 the tone rattled hard in her throat, and her body moved 
 toward the chemist menacingly; "if he is dead" the 
 voice had sunk far down and growled in the chest. 
 "Speak out! I will not kill you! I will only kill my- 
 self. But if you think there is a spark of life, work, 
 and do not stand and look at him. You may think me 
 mad. No, I am frenzied. He is the only being I have left 
 on earth. And, oh ! I love him !" 
 
 The hardened soul of the chemist trembled for the 
 first time in his life. Thus far, in all the deadly potions 
 he had concocted, he had never been called actually to 
 face their deadly effect, and he had ever held down by 
 an iron hand the gray matter of the brain, which God 
 had given him as the nervous tissue to arouse images. 
 This woman before him filled him with terror. He felt 
 hi-s knees shake. He shook as in an ague. This frantic 
 woman seemed to be losing her mind. What if she 
 should suddenly become crazed and kill him! He had 
 never before been in a situation so appalling. 
 
 "I will try, but" and the chemist bent very near the 
 agonized mother, while his ugly eyes gleamed and sharp, 
 irregular teeth could be seen, as he continued "you must 
 give me the jewels you promised me the ruby neck- 
 lace." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk stared at him as if she were in a 
 trance. Her lips parted, and she instinctively drew back. 
 But he did not pause: he only went on hastily, though 
 decidedly : 
 
 "You must get the jewels. There is no time to lose, 
 and I shall not lift a hand to save your child unless you 
 
 200
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 get me the necklace at once. There is no time to parley. 
 Act, if you wish me to try." 
 
 He paused and drew nearer Madame Nitolsk and 
 lowered his voice to a whisper. "You can call no doctor, 
 or you are lost. It is your fault." 
 
 "Have mercy; do not say that it is my fault. I shall 
 go mad." 
 
 'She buried her face in her hands and her head half 
 fell back. The unhappy woman writhed all over in her 
 torture. 
 
 "I am the only one you dare call," went on the uncom- 
 passionate chemist. "The jewels first, and then I will 
 try." 
 
 "The jewels!" repeated Madame Nitolsk "the jew- 
 els" as if she had just grasped what the man had said. 
 "Oh, to speak of jewels when my child lies there, dying, 
 or may be dead. To let his life ebb out and not move to 
 save him ; to barter in a death chamber ! Oh ! villain ; 
 oh, varlet ! to treat me so." Then she turned and left the 
 room. The chemist, after feeling the pulse, opened the 
 child's mouth and then closed it. 
 
 "Here," said the chemist, turning toward the nurse, 
 who had just come in ; "go to my pharmacy and tell the 
 clerk to give you the black box on the bottom shelf of the 
 safe. He will understand from that. Be quick." 
 
 The nurse went from the room in a whirl of excite- 
 ment and soon returned with the box. 
 
 "Fetch me some wine and some water," said the 
 chemist, as Suzanne handed him the black box. 
 
 The broken-hearted nurse, casting her sad, swollen 
 eyes toward her baby Adino, gathered her apron to her 
 face and sobbed aloud as she left the room, carrying the 
 order. 
 
 "Here," said Madame Nitolsk, as she put a little gold 
 jewel-box into the chemist's hand; "hide this at once; 
 
 2OI
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 here comes the nurse, and never say one word of it." 
 
 She had reentered the room and stood at the foot of 
 the little golden bed in which her child lay. . 
 
 He took the box, and, as if practicing sleight of hand, 
 put it into his pocket. He said nothing, but began gath- 
 ering into a small glass a speck of dust from one phial 
 and then a speck from another and another, until he had 
 satisfied himself that he had a combination of active 
 principles at least an active principle sufficiently potent 
 to overcome the forces of nature, which at that time 
 were operating fearfully fast for the dissolution of the 
 beautiful being lying there in helpless innocence. The 
 chemist opened Adino's mouth, and by means of a small 
 syringe sprayed the inside of the mouth. Then he closed 
 the mouth and held it closed for a few moments, when 
 he prepared another dose and repeated the process. 
 
 His face was not readable. It would seem a thing 
 never to be possible that the same spirit the spirit of 
 God could be breathed into two persons made of the 
 same material dust of the earth and rest within such 
 molds, that formed day by day into shapes so directly 
 opposite the one a creature with whom one would asso- 
 ciate only attributes the highest, while with the chemist 
 one could find' nothing that was not at once odious and 
 repellant. At last the chemist paused and stood shaking 
 his head, and adding another inch to the leng'th of his 
 face. And with a premonitory shake of his head he 
 spoke: "He is worse than I thought, but I'll do all that 
 science can do." 
 
 He knew that this wicked woman of fabulous wealth 
 loved that small bit of humanity with an undying love. 
 He knew, too, that if he wished he could get more than 
 the pigeon-blood ruby necklace which was now within 
 his keeping. 
 
 202
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Oh! save my child, Monsieur save him save him 
 and you shall have all the jewels I possess." 
 
 "I'll do my best, I'll do my best, Madame Nitolsk." 
 
 "Save him ! save him ! save him ! This she stood re- 
 peating, until he pointed to a faint purplish tinge passing 
 along by the temple. "There ! see, the heart flutters." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk clasped her hands and cast her eyes 
 upward, as if about to pray. Then her face grew hard. 
 She remembered that she had never trusted in .God. She 
 had never so much as thought there was a God. In fact, 
 she had never sent out into the world a thought unmin- 
 gled with thoughts of self. In this, the bitterest hour 
 she had ever known, she had nowhere to look for help 
 to no one, except it were the skeleton now bending over 
 her child and administering draughts, of whose potency 
 she dare not think. She only hoped, in her own way, that 
 all would yet be well. The efforts of the old chemist 
 continued; likewise the stupor of the child. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk went out and called up the Trent 
 residence by 'phone. A valet of Lieutenant Trent must 
 have answered the call, for Madame Nitolsk said: "The 
 valet of Lieutenant Trent? Oh! is Lady Trent there? 
 Ah, she is with the artist, Nevere. Is Lieutenant Trent 
 there?" again inquired the voice of Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 The listener at the other end of the line must have 
 answered in the negative, but added his whereabouts, 
 for Madame Nitolsk repeated, "He is at the club." 
 
 Then there was a silence, in which Madame Nitolsk 
 listened. At last she spoke. "Get whichever you can, 
 Lieutenant or Lady Trent. And, if you please, do it at 
 once. Tell them to come to Madame Nitolsk." Her 
 voice trembled, and she vainly struggled to control it. 
 After listening a moment she added : "They know where 
 Madame Nitolsk lives, on Rue Caumartin yes Rue 
 
 203
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Caumartin, near the Opera. Tell them that the little son 
 of Madame Nitolsk is dying." 
 
 Then she hung up the receiver and again came to the 
 side of her child. Fifteen minutes passed by, with not 
 the slightest sign of a change in the condition of the 
 child's appearance. The chemist worked persistently, and 
 Suzanne and three other servants worked as directed by 
 the chemist. Through all this scene Madame Nitolsk 
 moved in a mad walk, back and forth around the room, 
 pleading and beseeching the image of death this chem- 
 ist to save her child, and promising wealth untold. 
 
 "Madame Nitolsk! why, what has happened?" asked 
 Lieutenant Trent, who at this moment entered the room. 
 
 "Oh ! Lieutenant, my dear friend ! it is so dreadful 
 so dreadful ! See, my darling boy my Adinino such a 
 sad oh! if he dies I shall surely die, too." All this she 
 vented, broken by most heart-rending sobs and amidst 
 the wildest of gesticulations. 
 
 Lieutenant Trent saw that she seemed in danger of a 
 collapse, and he tenderly took hold of her, at the same 
 time saying to the butler, who stood near: "Let us lead 
 the Madame to an easy seat." 
 
 They led her, or rather carried her, and finally put 
 her down upon a deep sofa in an adjoining room. Then 
 Lieutenant Trent pulled up a chair and sat facing her. 
 "It is serious, I see. What is it?" he asked of the butler. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk heard the question, and, opening her 
 eyes, looked at Trent and answered : 
 
 "The servants are ignorant of all. Go, Philippe," 
 she said to the butler. Then turning to the Lieutenant, 
 she began : 
 
 "I was out last evening and was detained beyond the 
 hour I had expected to be home. Adino must have gone 
 to my room at the usual hour to say good night. This 
 morning nurse brought me the intelligence of his condi- 
 
 204
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 tion, and when I examined his body this tiny bottle was 
 by his side close up in the folds of his night-robe. It is 
 a phial which had contained a toothache medicine, and, 
 fortunately oh ! so fortunately so fortunately" 
 
 Here she seemed unable to go on, for she again gave 
 way to wild bursts of passionate grief. Lieutenant Trent 
 tried to soothe her, but in vain. 
 
 "Come, quick; Adino is moving!" cried the nurse, as 
 she rushed into the room. Madame Nitolsk leaped from 
 the sofa and fled out of the room, quickly followed by 
 the nurse and Lieutenant Trent. 
 
 The chemist was working constantly. He had scarce- 
 ly straightened his skeleton frame since bending over the 
 child. When Madame Nitolsk saw that Adino was mov- 
 ing feebly, she knelt at the side of his bed, and, taking 
 the little hand between her own, she bowed her head 
 above it. Adino made an effort to draw it away. It was 
 only a spasmodic effort, and not at all voluntary. 
 
 Trent stood at the foot of the bed, and silence reigned 
 in the room, except for the faint movement of the air as 
 the chemist passed his hands back and forth over the 
 child. 
 
 At last Adino slowly opened his eyes and looked 
 straight in front of him. "Adino, my darling! speak to 
 mama," cried Madame Nitolsk, for she had seen the long 
 curving lashes sweep upward. But he only stared ab- 
 sently in front of him. His mother continued to call him 
 by every endearing term, no doubt, quite familiar to him ; 
 but he seemed not to hear anything. She leaned over 
 him and pleaded : "Adinino, look at mama ! here is 
 mama ! Adinino, my baby, speak to mama !" 
 
 He had closed his eyes and all was again silent. She 
 ceased to weep or to speak and stood in a bent posture 
 above the body of her child, but he moved not. He was 
 still and motionless, as he had been at the first. He 
 
 205
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 always seemed more than human, but now in the pallor 
 there was a halo surrounding her baby. Her face grew 
 strangely bright. It was the look of the penitent kneel- 
 ing before the saint. 
 
 Adino again opened his eyes, and they seemed set in 
 a very unnatural stare, .while the beautiful mouth was 
 closed. Then the nurse began to cry and wail: "He is 
 dying he is dying I know, for I have seen people die 
 that is the way they look. Oh ! oh ! my baby my baby 
 my baby !" 
 
 The nurse was a very devout Catholic, and now began 
 to pray: "Oh! God in heaven, have mercy; save 
 Adinino ! save Adinino ! Take me, oh God ; take me, in- 
 stead! Save him! Save him!" 
 
 She lay sobbing where she had knelt by the side of 
 the bed, with her head pressed down into her hands. 
 
 The chemist kept patiently at work all the time, and 
 never lost a moment from watching closely the pallid 
 features of little Adino. 
 
 Trent still stood at his place at the foot of the bed, 
 looking intently upon the living death of this beauteous 
 creature, lying there helpless in the toils of seeming dis- 
 solution. The child's lips began to move. He was trying 
 to speak. He tried again. 
 
 "Look !" said the chemist ; "look ! Madame Nitolsk, he 
 is trying to speak." All listened in breathless anxiety, lest 
 they should not catch what he might say. Silence 
 reigned for some time. Then a hollow, small voice said 
 faintly : 
 
 "Wher where is th t that 
 
 Then all was quite <still for a time, save for the 
 smothered moaning of the old nurse, who wailed in an- 
 guish: "Oh! mignon! mignon! mignon! Ah ah 
 Adinino !" 
 
 Again the voice of the child broke the silence. "Whe 
 
 206
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 re is t th that Where is that 
 
 th at angel ?" 
 
 A long silence followed, for Adino closed his eyes, 
 and Madame Nitolsk fell upon her knees and buried her 
 face in the pillows. 
 
 Then Adino's lips again moved, and his eyes opened 
 wearily. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk had put her head in front of her 
 child's face, so as he looked he stared into her face. 
 
 "No " said Adino, wanderingly ; "My* angel is 
 
 a re e al an gel my an n n 
 
 gel has blue eyes and an d d 
 
 go golden hair." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk recoiled as if struck. The nurse had 
 stopped crying and was fervently praying. Every now 
 and then she looked at Adino and then at the chemist, 
 and then at her mistress. These three formed a group 
 at the head of the bed, one on either side and the child 
 upon the bed. And then she would go on praying. Once 
 when she looked up from her prayers she was attracted 
 by the flash of sunlight reflected from the sword of the 
 young English Lieutenant. She knew who he was, for 
 he had come every day for the past three days to the 
 home of Madame, her mistress. She had learned from 
 Yvonne, the special maid of Madame Nitolsk, many small 
 particulars. Then, too, little things dropped from 
 the lips of Madame herself. Suzanne had matched her 
 thus gained knowledge and had weaved it to suit her 
 fancy. He was a young English officer. He had great 
 wealth, for he lived in a mansion with gold-painted iron 
 gates on the Elysees. His name was Sir Reginald Trent. 
 He was heir to some great English title. He was a Lieu- 
 tenant in the British army. He had met her mistress in 
 India, and when Madame had come to Paris he had 
 come, too. Her mistress was a widow, young, beautiful, 
 
 207
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 
 
 captivating and wealthy. But what was in the face of 
 the old nurse was not a regard of this nature. When she 
 had been attracted by the reflected flashing she had 
 looked at the sword, and then she had given a start and 
 had stared at the face of the soldier; then she had 
 dropped her head as if ruminating something long before 
 noted; but she did not look down long. She looked up 
 again and scrutinized the young officer, his face, his uni- 
 form, his bearing, his all. She looked so steadily and 
 fiercely that her brow knit, her eyes grew small and her 
 mouth opened a very little. She was comparing some- 
 thing mental with something physical. All of a sudden 
 her eyes opened wide, her brow relaxed, her mouth drew 
 straight back. She had found what she had been search- 
 ing for. She endeavored to reach the officer without 
 attracting the attention of the other watchers. When 
 she had come to a spot close to him she stopped and 
 looked quietly up at him, and not a little fearfully. 
 
 "Monseigneur" that was all could be heard, for she 
 followed the address in a tone so discreetly lowered that 
 no one heard what she said to cause the English officer 
 to start and regard her with a look of amazement, as she 
 proceeded with what must have been a revelation of 
 some sort, and a revelation which embraced in itself 
 something relating to Adino, if it did not embrace Adino 
 himself. 
 
 The officer looked from her face, upon which she had 
 held his gaze riveted, to the deathlike form of little 
 Adino. The nurse pursed her brow, endavoring to im- 
 press this great man with the urgency of a compliance 
 with the conditions, whose acceptance or refusal meant 
 life or death. All this the student of human life in ac- 
 tion could very easily have seen. 
 
 "Go find some one with golden hair and blue eyes," 
 said the chemist, straightening his ghoulish figure; "it 
 
 208
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 makes no difference who, just so it answers the descrip- 
 tion." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk did not hear him.. She seemed 
 crushed and lay with her head buried in the cushions 
 around her son. She was bereft of any strength she 
 might have had. Cunning needs little strength, and 
 strength requires no cunning a wise provision of nature. 
 
 Lieutenant Trent was still listening to the nurse, who 
 was certainly capable of interesting the brave officer with 
 her bit of information. That form of ceremony such as 
 should have been observed between the servant and the 
 officer was, for the time, swept away. The chemist looked 
 upon the mother; she was helpless in her wild grief. He 
 looked upon the servants, but they all seemed stricken 
 with fear, for servants are always superstitious in the 
 presence of death. Then he looked with contumely at 
 the strong officer, and wondered why he should be so 
 forgetful as to chat with a serving maid at a moment 
 when the energies of all should be directed toward assist- 
 ing him. , 
 
 "Go," he cried, in tones that carried authority; "go 
 at once ; get some one. He is dying go quick, or it will 
 be too late." 
 
 209
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Julia was standing in the middle of her room, reading 
 a letter which she had just opened. She was still in 
 street attire, not having removed even her hat, coat or 
 gloves. She had just returned from luncheon, which 
 she had taken across the way, a bit up the street ; indeed, 
 at the farthest end of the square from her place. But it 
 was a very short little square. 
 
 As she read, a bright smile playe"d over her face, and 
 every now and then a word like "Good," "Bravo," es- 
 caped her lips. 
 
 After finishing her letter she removed her hat and 
 coat and took her accustomed seat in the arm-chair, in 
 which she had rested daily for fully fifteen minutes after 
 coming from luncheon. It was a rule of health relig- 
 iously observed by her, in order that she would be sure 
 of proper digestion having taken place. Once, at the 
 beginning of her studies with Signor Novara, she had 
 been bothered into a crimsoning by the startling ques- 
 tion: "What did you eat for luncheon?" And as she had 
 not answered, the master had explained why he had put 
 that question. He always asked after the health of his 
 pupils, for he said : "If you keep well, you are living prop- 
 erly, and if you do not keep well, then you are living im- 
 properly ; and if you are living wrong, then you can not 
 sing." 
 
 So in compliance with the mild request of Signor No- 
 vara, Julia had always spent fifteen minutes after each 
 meal in pleasant thoughts, and seated, if possible. 
 
 At this time she dwelt upon the pleasant features of 
 210
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the letter, for naturally it filled her every thought. She 
 smiled at recollection of it. 
 
 Madame Cinati had scored a signal success and had 
 wired of her great triumphs on Thursday night, when 
 she had sung Ophelia. She had been called to the royal 
 box after the finish of the Mad Scene. The next day she 
 had received a necklace bearing the royal initial and a 
 command to sing before the King and Queen at the 
 palace. 
 
 The telegram had also said that she had sent the 
 press comments. This was the first time that Madame 
 Cinati had complied with Julia's request to send her the 
 papers of the city in which Madame sang. 
 
 The future of Julia Pembroke, the American singer, 
 passed in kaleidoscopic views before her, showing her- 
 self in the long-delayed debut. 
 
 Here a faint knock at the door broke off her pleasant 
 reverie. 
 
 Julia knew it must be some one doing service of some 
 kind, for she was well aware of the custom of the house, 
 which forbade servants using the bell. She arose and 
 opened the door. 
 
 "Pardon, Mademoiselle, here is a letter which fell be- 
 hind the table this morning. I am very sorry, Mademoi- 
 selle, that I am so tardy in delivering it." 
 
 "There is no harm done," said Julia; "it is not very 
 late. Thank you." 
 
 She closed the door and scrutinized the superscrip- 
 tion. She endeavored to read the postmark: "L-o-n 
 It must be London." Though as to this she would remain 
 in ignorance until she opened it and read inside. This 
 she lost no time in doing, and eagerly broke the seal. 
 
 It was London. But who could it be from ? She sel- 
 dom received letters from any one, and this letter pen- 
 manship and all was most assuredly a mystery. 
 
 211
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Though she had made many friends rather, formal 
 acquaintances there was not one whom she deemed suf- 
 ficiently intimate to send her so long a communication. 
 She turned at once to the back and read the bold black 
 signature. 
 
 Oh! joy untold! It was signed the impresario of 
 Covent Garden, London. Her hands trembled beyond 
 control. This was an unexpected delight. For a time it 
 seemed that her head swam. She felt faint and sought 
 the security of her armchair near the window. 
 
 He had written that on a certain date, two years be- 
 fore, he had heard her sing at a "Benefit of Douai," and 
 that he had seen then she had an extraordinary voice; 
 that a few days since, on speaking with the Princesse 
 de Grancourt regarding a benefit concert which he was 
 about to give, she had suggested to him the name of Mad- 
 emoiselle Pembroke, of Paris, an artist-pupil of Signor 
 Enrico Novara. 
 
 That he relied much upon the excellent judgment of 
 the Princesse de Grancourt, since she had shown marked 
 ability on several occasions in aiding at the selection of 
 participants when he was arranging for concerts. That 
 Madame la Princesse had said there was much improve- 
 ment in Mademoiselle Pembroke's voice during her 
 studies of the past two years. 
 
 The Princess had heard Miss Pembroke at an audi- 
 tion given by Signor Novara, and that he himself recalled 
 the beauty of her voice. He now made her this offer, 
 and hoped that he might be able to present her to the 
 London world as the first lyric prima donna of Covent 
 Garden. Since in April one of the singers would leave 
 London and go to Berlin, he wished to have the place 
 vacated by this soprano filled by Mademoiselle Pembroke. 
 The operas in which she would have to appear were 
 "Faust," "La Boheme," "Rigoletto" and "Lucia." That 
 
 212
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 she was privileged to select from the foregoing number 
 the opera in which she would prefer to make her debut. 
 That the first two weeks of the season, commencing April 
 30, would be devoted to the Wagnerian cycle, thus giv- 
 ing her over three months in which to prepare herself, 
 by coaching with the master, in the operas required of 
 her. That her salary would be 160 a month. 
 
 When Julia had finished reading the letter she went 
 to the beginning and started to read it anew. She read 
 a thought, then looked out o_f the window, saying to her- 
 self that she had sung at that "Benefit of Douai" to please 
 a -friend of Madame Cinati's. She thought of the little 
 verse she had learned when a very young child far too 
 young to know its meaning "Cast thy bread upon the 
 waters, and thou shalt gather it after many days." 
 
 Here was an offer to sing at Covent Garden, and for 
 no mean salary, at that, and all because this impresario 
 had heard her sing at that benefit. She remembered, 
 too, the great reluctance upon the part of the master to 
 let her sing at that place. She laughed now as she re- 
 called the scene when she had asked permission to sing. 
 
 Signer Novara had said : "Singing at benefits is all 
 very well, after one is through with the years of prepara- 
 tory study and after acceptance by the music-loving 
 critics. But if you go out to sing everywhere before I 
 have you finished, you will do your voice great harm. I 
 would advise you not to sing a song for any one until 
 your study period is over." 
 
 She looked over the top of her letter, loth to leave 
 contemplations so sweet. What could be more delightful, 
 more intoxicating, than a promised debut at one of the 
 most renowned opera houses in the world, in the largest 
 city and in a realm ? And all this to a youthful debutante, 
 who had studied six long years. She could easily prepare 
 
 213
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 all the operas named in the letter by the date set for her 
 debut. 
 
 Yes, she would sing Lucia as her first role, if she 
 accepted ; she would speak of it to Signor Novara when 
 she should go to the lesson to-day. 
 
 Then she wondered if the King and Queen would be 
 in the royal box when she should sing there, and if their 
 Majesties would like her singing. She lived in retro- 
 spect again. A small scene came before her, a visionary 
 picture of herself, which she had imagined in childhood 
 far back on a vast stage stood a small creature in pink. 
 Many jewels flashed from her head and body and she 
 was singing. People sat in the aisles and stood in the 
 corridors. There was a twinkling of lights, a reflection 
 of gems a mere movement of perfumed air. Great 
 throngs waited outside, in a drizzling, steady rain. Han- 
 soms and cabs were hurrying in all directions. It was 
 the London of a child's dream the debut of herself 
 the longing of a born singer. 
 
 She folded the letter with much deliberation, and then 
 went toward the mantel, upon which she placed it. Then 
 she sat down at the table, where lay the open score of 
 "Lucia," in which the master had continued her studies. 
 
 She placed her elbows upon the table, one on either 
 side of the music, and, leaning forward, she buried her 
 forehead in the curve formed by her fingers, and began 
 the repetition of the words of the score. In this way, 
 shading her eyes and resting her head, the brain was 
 eased. She worked steadily for some minutes. Then, 
 as if seized by some force supernatural, she suddenly 
 lifted her head, and, resting her chin upon the back of 
 her locked fingers, stared hard in front of her. Her eyes 
 were almost closed, and certainly she was not busy com- 
 mitting the score of "Lucia." 
 
 214
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 No, she was far away doing what? It were diffi- 
 cult, indeed, to tell just what was at that moment trans- 
 piring within the scope of her mental vision. She her- 
 self could not, if she would, have defined or described the 
 strange feeling. She only knew that this was a very 
 strange experience for her. She had never been troubled 
 by anything of a nature to prevent the concentration of 
 her mind upon a given subject. And now, here she was 
 giving way to an idle thought about a beautiful child 
 that she had seen the afternoon before. 
 
 She turned impatiently to her work, chiding herself 
 for such weakness. But again the image of the beautiful 
 child was before her. Only this time a yearning gentle- 
 ness was in the large, black, pleading eyes, which re- 
 strained her brain and held her in their grasp, until she 
 felt her entire being shaken by a nervous chill. 
 
 "Pshaw !" she exclaimed ; "this is surely the strangest 
 experience of my life. What can be the matter with 
 me? I wonder if I am giddy over this great offer from 
 London. I shall certainly grieve the master this after- 
 noon, for I have committed but two pages. 
 
 "Ah ! there are those pleading eyes again ! Why does 
 my mind revert to them constantly ? Oh ! what pathos ! 
 And I have seen this picture of that child since noon 
 to-day ! It came to me at luncheon, and I have not been 
 able to chase it away ! Though he was surprisingly beau- 
 tiful in his sweet, childish simplicity this does not ex- 
 cuse my very foolish, uncontrollable weakness to waste 
 my time in thoughts of him. I will not waste another 
 moment." 
 
 Ding! ding! ding! the doorbell rang vigorously, and 
 rang three times. 
 
 As no one but Madame Cinati or Lady Trent ever 
 gave her bell three pulls, when Julia opened the door she 
 was not surprised to find Lady Trent. 
 
 215
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Ah! good afternoon, Lady Trent. I am very glad 
 indeed to see you." This she said while taking Lady 
 Trent by the arm and leading her to a sofa in the sitting 
 room. Lady Trent had not waited to be invited, but had 
 entered as soon as Julia had opened the door. 
 
 "Thank you, my sweet child," said Lady Trent ; "you 
 are very kind, indeed. Do not remove my furs, dear," 
 she went on, for Julia had begun to unfasten the long, 
 silver-fox stole. Then glancing toward the table, on 
 which she saw Julia's open book, she continued, though 
 in a question : "Were you studying ?" 
 
 "No, I was only looking at the lesson," answered 
 Julia, for she felt that she had not been studying. 
 
 "Now, I am going to ask you to do me a favor, Julia." 
 
 "Please demand, my dear Lady Trent, and if it is pos- 
 sible, I shall comply with your request." 
 
 "The little son of Madame Nitolsk is very ill, and he 
 is constantly calling for some one whom he calls 'an 
 angel, with blue eyes and golden hair.' Will you go and 
 see him?" 
 
 "Assuredly, at once; the disease is not contagious, I 
 hope." 
 
 "Oh, no;" replied Lady Trent. "He took some kind 
 of toothache powders or drops some accident at least, 
 it was by mistake. That is all I know." 
 
 "Have you been there?" asked Julia. 
 
 "No, Reginald had been called there by 'phone, and 
 had left there and was coming up Champs Elysees when 
 I met him. He was going to find me at Monsieur Ne- 
 vere's, but I had been at the English Embassy instead, 
 and was on my way home. He told me of the child's 
 illness and asked me to fetch you." 
 
 "How strange! I did not know that Madame Nitolsk 
 had a child!" exclaimed Julia, rather listlessly, for she 
 had finished her preparation to accompany Lady Trent 
 
 216
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 and was thinking if she had not better 'phone the maes- 
 tro. Then she had an after-thought, that since the lesson 
 was not until a late hour, she might yet be able to go 
 to Signer Novara's place. If not, she would send some 
 one in time so as not to cause the master to wait her 
 coming. 
 
 "Here are your gloves, child," said Lady Trent, for 
 she noticed Julia's abstraction. 
 
 The gloves were lying where Julia had dropped them 
 in her haste to read the letter from London. 
 
 "Ah ! thank you, Lady Trent." 
 
 "Fortunately, I came in the automobile," observed 
 Lady Trent, as they went out together. "We can speed 
 there in a very short time." 
 
 A few minutes later Lady Trent and Julia had de- 
 scended at the home of Madame Nitolsk, and the butler 
 opened to their ring. 
 
 He was a very important personage a French but- 
 ler, in livery of purple velvet, with a yellow satin sash 
 passing over the left shoulder and meeting at the waist 
 line, under, but a little in front, of the left arm. From 
 the bottom of the sash, which reached to the knee, hung 
 deep and very heavy gold fringe. There was a crest 
 in gold upon the front of the sash and a little to the left. 
 
 Lady Trent saw the crest and recognized it as the 
 heraldic bearings of a noble Roman family. When they 
 were in the vestibule, the butler was about to speak, but 
 Lady Trent, seeing her son descending the grand marble 
 staircase, which could be seen through the open crystal 
 doors between the vestibule and the large reception hall, 
 went toward him, followed by Julia. 
 
 "This way, mother," said Trent. "Ah ! so glad you 
 came," he said to Julia, approaching and taking her by 
 the hand, and, bending over it, touched it to his lips. "I 
 thank you very, very much for your kindness." 
 
 217
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "I am sure I am glad to come if I can in any way 
 serve the little child." 
 
 "This way," and, taking Julia's arm and tenderly as- 
 sisting his mother on his right, they ascended the broad 
 marble staircase. 
 
 On entering Adino's room Julia recognized the man, 
 who seemed to be acting in the capacity of doctor, as the 
 chemist of whom she had at various times made pur- 
 chases of sundry, insignificant articles. She thought 
 nothing of his being there instead of a visiting physician, 
 for chemists in Paris are well educated, and know the 
 use and effect of all drugs. 
 
 Several servants were about the bed, so Julia could 
 not see the little one as they entered the bedchamber. 
 Some other very serious-looking servants stood here and 
 there about the room, with towels, cups, spoons and other 
 articles, for which, no doubt, the chemist had called. 
 
 A maid knelt in the corner, beyond the bed. Her 
 swollen eyes and set, haggard face and pale lips told of 
 the dejected condition of her spirits. Her fingers told 
 the beads, in which, without doubt, she had unbounded 
 confidence, that through the good spirit she invoked little 
 Adino would live. And who can say that her prayers 
 were not the measure of devotion yet required to bring 
 into healthy action the little organism into which the old 
 chemist was pouring his potions, in which he had confi- 
 dence like unto that of the believer in spiritual force. If 
 the spiritual and physical faith and work are required 
 to save a soul and fit it for heaven, why is it not possible 
 that the physician's efficacy would be very materially 
 aided by the prayers of the righteous? 
 
 Lady Trent and Julia went toward Madame Nitolsk 
 to offer words of sympathy and condolence. Lady Trent 
 took a chair by the side of the one in which Madame 
 Nitolsk was seated, and, taking her hands, chafed first 
 
 218
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 one and then the other in a genuinely sympathetic man- 
 ner. Julia, however, not experienced in scenes such as 
 this before her in fact, never only at the death of her 
 father having found herself in a scene of extreme sadness 
 had only the customary formula to offer, and then she 
 withdrew from the little circle and went toward the 
 child's bed. As Julia reached the foot of the bed and 
 saw the child, she started back. She laid hold on the 
 gold knob of the bed for support. After a time she recov- 
 ered herself and stood looking at the child, her face and 
 entire being bespeaking interest and admiration. 
 
 Julia knew this child to be the same little one whom 
 she had seen in the Grus music store the same little 
 child whose beautiful speaking eyes had chased away 
 all thought of her study during the past hour. 
 
 How she longed for a sight of them now! In her 
 mind, even at this moment, the same pathetic, troubled 
 eyes pleaded with her as before. But she could not see 
 his eyes now. They were tightly closed. 
 
 She riveted her gaze, determined that if he opened 
 his eyes he should see her, and, too, that if he opened 
 them for only a short time she might be sure whether 
 their expression was the same as that of the eyes that 
 had haunted her in her room. 
 
 All the radiant beauty of her being shone in her face 
 and in every fibre of her body, drawn to its utmost ten- 
 sion at this moment, as she bent slightly forward over 
 the foot of the bed in an eager expectancy for the mo- 
 ment to arrive when he should lift those lids, when there 
 should be an upward, graceful movement of those silken 
 lashes, that now lay quite still, without betraying so much 
 as the slightest twitching of a muscle. 
 
 She was benignly beautiful and fitted by nature and 
 training to be worshiped as a goddess of the Good of 
 the True of the Beautiful. 
 
 219
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 The nurse, who was telling her beads, paused in her 
 petition and told herself that she had been fortunate 
 indeed to have recalled that the young English officer, 
 standing at the foot of the bed a short time before, was 
 the same officer who, near the Grus music store, had 
 parted company from this young woman with yellow 
 hair and large, kind, blue eyes. Indeed, she told herself 
 it must have been by the aid of her prayers that she 
 had thought of this young woman. The pious old nurse, 
 when Adino had called for "that angel," had thought 
 he must be dying, and was having a glimpse of the 
 angels about whom she had taught him. Indeed, so care- 
 fully had she taught him as to the attendance of angels, 
 as she looked upon their mission, that he felt himself 
 at all times under the guardianship of two angels by 
 day, and under the protection of an extra force of four 
 others, who guarded the four corners of his bed all 
 through the silent watches of the night. In strange con- 
 trast, truly, was this imaginary angelic host attendant 
 upon the child, to the evil-inspiring host of appalling 
 blackness, which surrounded the daily and nightly path- 
 way of the mother of little Adino. 
 
 Now the nurse understood she thought she did 
 what Adino had meant on last evening when he had sat 
 looking into the flames, as they danced and leaped up the 
 fireplace of the great chimney while she arranged for 
 their evening meal. He and nurse had eaten together 
 since he had been able to take his seat at the table, for 
 mama was very particular that everything pertaining to 
 table service should be dainty, elegant, sumptuous, stiffly 
 dignified. When Adino was grown he might be seated 
 at the table, but not before. 
 
 As Adino had watched the fantastic figures formed 
 by the leaping flames, now high, now low, now sinuous, 
 now laughing, catching each other in loving embrace, his 
 
 220
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 large, earnest eyes had turned toward the nurse, and 
 he had asked: "Suzanne, when I die will all these black 
 curls fall out, and shall I have new hair golden hair?" 
 
 The nurse had laughed and answered: "Ah! no, dear 
 Adino ; there are more angels with dark hair real black 
 hair than there are with yellow hair." 
 
 Evidently he had not been satisfied with this answer, 
 for he had continued: "In all my picture books every 
 angel has golden hair and blue eyes. I never saw an 
 angel with black hair black hair like mine. They all 
 have hair and eyes like that lady I saw at the music store, 
 when I got that violin string." 
 
 This he had said while his gazelle eyes had lingered 
 in a gentle, yet very inquiring, survey of nurse's face, 
 until she had answered : "Ah ! Adinino, there are beau- 
 tiful angels with hair and eyes just exactly like yours." 
 
 Presently the eyes of Adino opened, slowly at first, 
 then suddenly to a wide-open stare, as if he realized that 
 the vision of his delirium stood before him. Julia had 
 changed her attitude of strained expectancy to one of 
 tenderest compassion, and stood smiling upon him, just 
 as she had done when he had entered the music store. 
 The eyes of Adino rested upon Julia and he made sev- 
 eral attempts to speak. At last he succeeded, and called 
 out in a very weak voice : "Mama.'' 
 
 Madame Nitolsk was at his side in a moment, crying: 
 "Oh ! my baby ! my darling ! what is it ? Here is mama ! 
 Speak to me! What is it, Adino?" 
 
 "Mama there is th at angel." 
 
 His beautiful eyes were fixedly staring at Julia, the 
 light in their velvety depths dimmed and altogether very 
 unnatural. Soon they were closed again and he lay quite 
 like a creature into which the breath of life had not yet 
 come, or out of which the spirit had just fled. He had 
 
 221
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 lapsed into the same comatose condition, and the chem- 
 ist began to look more serious than he had yet done. 
 
 "Is he not better?" asked Lady Trent. 
 
 "No, I think he is dying," replied the chemist. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk sobbed convulsively, and Lady 
 Trent led her away from the bedside. All the servants 
 present joined in a general weeping. The nurse, who 
 had heard the chemist say Adino was dying, slipped out, 
 but soon returned with a very devout-looking priest, 
 whom she guided up to the bed and begged him "to pre- 
 pare Adino for death." 
 
 The priest passed along after the nurse, amidst the 
 genuflexions of the servants upon every side. 
 
 Again Adino half opened his eyes and called: 
 "Mama !" 
 
 Madame Nitolsk hastily came to the bedside and bent 
 over him, saying: "Here is mama." 
 
 "Mama, don't angels sing?" asked Adino, while his 
 eyes rested calmly upon Julia, who still stood at the foot 
 of the bed. 
 
 "Julia," said Lady Trent, "I believe it would please 
 him to hear you sing." 
 
 Though Lady Trent had spoken in low, quiet tones, 
 they were yet audible enough for Madame Nitolsk to 
 hear the remark made to Julia. 
 
 "Oh ! Miss Pembroke, I beg of you, do sing some- 
 thing anything you may select," entreated Madame 
 Nitolsk. 
 
 Julia, willing to do so, wisely asked the chemist : "Are 
 you quite sure, Monsieur, that it would have no undesira- 
 ble effect upon little Adino?" 
 
 "Ah! no, Mademoiselle; the contrary would be the 
 effect, I assure you." 
 
 Julia, not at all acquainted with the religion of Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk, scarcely knew what song to sing. But see- 
 
 222
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 ing a priest, supposed Madame Nitolsk of the Catholic 
 faith. And as for Adino, she would try to please and 
 satisfy his taste by means of her voice alone. 
 
 Julia, though a Protestant, was a child of God, and 
 believed that all who trusted God were children and 
 heirs to the future He had planned for the immortal 
 part of their natures. She had learned the "Ave Maria" 
 to please her teacher, who had wished to hear it sung 
 by her voice and for art's sake alone. She now recalled 
 what Maestro Novara had said when she had finished 
 singing "The angels in heaven knelt while you sang." 
 
 "Yes," thought Julia ; "I will sing this." 
 
 So she took a long breath and began "Ave Maria." 
 The long-held notes sighed themselves out upon the 
 silence of the room. And the echo of the first met the 
 breath of the second. But there was no discord; there 
 was only a soft vibration, as of distant chimes heard 
 in the memory as they mingled and hovered one moment, 
 until the breath had become an echo, and they died away 
 and fell together into the still ether around. 
 
 The divine voice went on, and there was so much 
 sound that it perforated the sunlight, and all the air quiv- 
 ered. The golden purity of the notes caught the color 
 of the sunlit air and reflected the lights of human life 
 into the clear water of the sound. 
 
 And the notes divided, for the high ones, entering 
 the sunlight, seemed to take life and were created a soul, 
 and went outward and upward and vanished into the 
 great above, while the low notes lingered below, to 
 whisper consolation, until the high notes should return 
 from heaven with the granted appeal. 
 
 The light coming in through the window at this hour 
 of the afternoon was strong enough to make the face of 
 Julia very distinct to Adino. He kept his eyes steadily, 
 though not at all fixedly, resting upon her face. A smile 
 
 223
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 played around the delicately molded mouth, and a peace- 
 ful expression, cast as it were by the reflex of an unseen 
 halo, encircled the small, pale face. The eyes, though 
 natural and showing not the slightest influence of the 
 smiling mouth, shown with a beauty of expression by 
 which Julia knew that the little soul quivered with the 
 real import of the touching appeal of Gounod's "Ave 
 Maria." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk forgot to weep in listening to the 
 tones which carried the spirit of adoration to the highest 
 of that emotion as known to mankind. 
 
 And as the prayer passed on, through vocalization 
 by Julia, when the sinner beseeches the Holy Mother to 
 petition at the throne of Mercy for the redemption of 
 his soul, Madame Nitolsk, under the spell of the mag- 
 netic power of the prayer or its musical expression, or 
 both, bowed her head upon the bed of her child and 
 shook convulsively. 
 
 Lady Trent stood beside the kneeling mother, and 
 for the first time in her life a singing voice made the 
 tears follow in quick succession down her cheeks. 
 
 Lieutenant Trent, standing at the foot of the bed, a 
 little to the left of Julia, bowed his head and crossed 
 his hands upon the hilt of his sword. Such singing he 
 had often read of, but never before had he heard. 
 
 The chemist was a shrewd, keen, heartless man, and, 
 though he wondered at the marvelous voice, he did 
 not forget the faint throb under the press of his taper- 
 ing fingers. Upon his ghoulish face was registered a 
 strange appeal, for he was anxious to save Adino, and 
 he knew that the pulse had grown more regular than 
 it had been before. The priest, who had been standing 
 beside the chemist when the song began, listened, and 
 as the song moved on in heart-rending pleadings for 
 mercy, the priest and the servants, as one person, fell 
 
 224
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 upon their knees, and, clasping their hands devotionally 
 upon their breasts, with faces upturned to the Divinity 
 before Whose shrine they knelt, they sent up the sin- 
 cere desire of their hearts, as expressed in the words, 
 and as expressed by the divine music of Gounod, and as 
 expressed in the soulful tones of the human voice, which 
 carried the spirit held in the body out far out of its 
 earthly domain, where what is God awaits the coming 
 of what is God in each mortal upon earth. In other 
 words, where the immortal part of ourselves will clasp 
 hands with the immortal part of loved ones gone before, 
 and where God will again apportion to each the mission 
 of each there, in accordance with the respective merits 
 carried from earth Heaven. 
 
 And when the last sighed "Ave" floated out and 
 ceased to echo, a deathlike stillness pervaded the room, 
 save for the convulsive movements of Madame Nitolsk. 
 What was going on within this woman? No one knew 
 yes, some one did for God knew. 
 
 Julia did not move from her position, but stood 
 smiling sweetly at Adino, who smiled back at her. It 
 was the smile in which the eyes joined and echoed back 
 the call to life and health. Then there was a stir a 
 restless movement of Adino, and the entire small body 
 heaved violently. 
 
 It was the chemist who broke the intense, the pall- 
 like spell. "He will not die; the crisis is passed. He 
 will live." 
 
 Half an hour later Madame Nitolsk, Lady Trent and 
 Lieutenant Trent stood at the head of the steps, bidding 
 Julia good-bye. At this juncture of affairs the brave 
 heart of Lieutenant Trent was not his own. It had gone 
 out to the fair American singer, who some minutes be- 
 
 225
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 fore had given them all a glimpse of heaven through 
 the medium of the divine in Gounod. 
 
 As there had been nothing more which Julia might 
 have been able to do for Adino, and as the chemist had 
 said that he must be very quiet, she had decided to leave 
 now,, for it was nearing the hour when she should be 
 with the maestro. 
 
 Lady Trent had said: "Julia, mv landau is at the 
 door. Be sure you take it^ for the air is somewhat chill, 
 especially for you. Guard that jewel in your throat, and 
 do not take cold." 
 
 Julia had thanked her warmly, and, with Lieutenant 
 Trent, who had insisted upon seeing her off, had gone 
 down the marble staircase, and the crystal doors of 
 the vestibule had closed behind them. But when they 
 had stepped outside the street doors they found no auto- 
 mobile there. 
 
 Julia was greatly surprised, and so was the young 
 Lieutenant. Now this surprise on the part of the young 
 English officer was affected. 
 
 Reginald Trent had known all the time that the auto- 
 mobile was not at the door, for when his mother and 
 Julia had entered, he had sent it away, with orders to 
 return when 'phoned for. He had hoped by this little 
 delay, and trusting to the desertedness of the down- 
 stairs during such a time as had just passed, to be able 
 at least to say a few words of great import to himself; 
 for Lieutenant Trent was not an eloquent man, and, 
 more, too, he had never tried to weave such sentences. 
 
 "Go 'phone for my automobile," said Trent to the 
 butler, giving him the number. 
 
 "Yes, my lord, I shall do so; but sometimes it re- 
 quires patience, for it is often difficult to get a mes- 
 sage." 
 
 226
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Then he looked at Julia, who had crossed the vesti- 
 bule and had entered the reception hall. The butler, 
 like most persons, worshiped a gifted singer, and felt 
 that this young American was a personage one far 
 removed from the ordinary walks of life. And though 
 he hurried up the marble steps on his way to the 'phone, 
 he turned and cast a lingering look upon the young 
 woman who had filled the house with music, and by 
 the sweetest voice he had ever heard. He looked upon 
 Julia as one would expect a believer of household gods 
 to look upon his penates. 
 
 Julia went into the reception hall, for there were no 
 seats in the vestibule, and there were chairs in the 
 reception hall, and, besides, Julia had been standing for 
 so long that she was really tired. 
 
 They sat down, Julia in a large easy-chair and Trent 
 in a very severely straight one, which was fashioned 
 without a back, excepting for a bit of a gold frame which 
 stood some ten inches above the cushioned seat. A soldier 
 like Trent finds it most, agreeable to receive as little 
 support as- possible when in the full dress of his rank. 
 A soldier brave is a soldier strong at all times, whether 
 sitting, standing, walking or fighting, and needs no sup- 
 port from any person, place, time or thing. 
 
 Trent looked at Julia, and for a time there was a 
 silence. 
 
 Julia was truly fatigued, but beyond a slight relaxa- 
 tion of the severe tension to which her nerves had been 
 strained, she was in her usual health and spirits. 
 
 Trent thought her the most captivating woman he 
 had ever known, and he knew he loved her. And he 
 felt impelled to do just what any young man under 
 such circumstances would do tell her so. He would 
 be brave, he would. But brave as he was upon the field 
 of battle, and fearless as he was of all dangers and ills 
 
 227
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 which befell him in the ordinary or in the extraordinary 
 walks of life, he now felt himself almost powerless to 
 tell this gentlewoman of his love for her, and to offer 
 her his name, his home, his life himself, and to beg 
 of her in return the right to see her seated in his home, 
 the queen of his home, his heart, his fortunes, through 
 life and eternity. Oh! how he loved her! 
 
 Why was it so difficult to speak when the heart was 
 so full full to overflowing full with the subject mat- 
 ter and he knew perfectly all that he wished to say? 
 But it was not only difficult to say it verged on the 
 impossible to say. 
 
 Julia, who since seating herself had been silent, too, 
 now turned her eyes upon Trent and said: "I noticed 
 a strange crest upon the sash of the butler. Do you 
 know what it is?" 
 
 "No, I do not." 
 
 Then, moving his chair close enough to Julia to 
 take both of her hands in his, he said: "Miss Pem- 
 broke, this may be a surprise to you, but I am a blunt 
 soldier, used to war's alarms, and hardly capable of 
 gentle wooing. But I love you with all the strength of 
 my nature. I have never before loved any woman as I 
 now love you, and I feel I can not think of life without 
 you. I love you, I love you, believe me, I love you." 
 And bending over the small white hands he fondly held 
 in his, he pressed them to his lips and lingered for a 
 moment, as if reverently accentuating a fervent appeal. 
 
 "True," he continued, "I have only a soldier's heart 
 and hearth to offer, but all that I have is yours; and 
 I shall love you than which no man ever loved woman 
 better." 
 
 Julia offered no resistance to his manner of action, 
 nor opposition to his sentiments as expressed in this 
 declaration of his ardent love. 
 
 228
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 On Christmas eve Alverstone went out trom the 
 Grand Hotel upon the Boulevard des Capucines. See- 
 ing him pause a moment, one of the many cabmen wait- 
 ing near by came up and asked him to take a cab, but 
 he was absorbed in his own way; he was only thinking 
 which of the two directions he should follow. He finally 
 started down the thoroughfare, pursuing his way slowly 
 and in a very hesitating manner until he came to the 
 Opera. It was ten-thirty. "Tannhauser" was cul- 
 tivating the very large number of those who gathered 
 to hear it sung. 
 
 Alverstone stood lost in a sort of revery, while a 
 feeling of something akin to sadness came over the spirit 
 of his dream. He looked up at the magnificent gray 
 structure standing so firmly, yet stately and grandly; 
 proudly triumphant in the glory she had wrought for 
 the art of song. That magnificent creature that reigns 
 with and yet above the surrounding blocklike buildings, 
 that huddle themselves together, and look like dumb, 
 wondrous slaves at their superb, gray chiseled queen, 
 who has for her crown a golden lyre and for a throne 
 the juncture of an old but modern city's great ways. 
 
 After standing for some time at the corner of Boule- 
 vard des Capucines, gazing up at the Opera, contem- 
 plating future scenes within its walls scenes in which 
 Julia would be the principal, unless unless dare he 
 think it? Yes, he dare, for he had determined to try 
 to win her for his fireside queen. She should not be an 
 opera singer, that she should not. He thought he knew 
 the gentlewoman well enough to know that if Miss Pem- 
 
 229
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 broke had meant to oppose his suit, her manner on the 
 evening at the Trents' would have been less pleasant; 
 and the sympathy shown him afterwards, especially as 
 they went down the broad staircase, on out to where 
 he had carefully assisted her into Madame Cinati's car- 
 riage, was certainly possessed of a degree of warmth 
 quite soothing to a lover, who had sought and had not 
 found the jewel of his desires. He should cherish as 
 long as he lived the picture of her sweet face on that 
 memorable first night at the Opera. In there he had 
 seen her smile upon him, he had sat beside her and had 
 felt that she loved him ; at least that she was glad that he 
 was near, and more than glad that he had been pleased 
 to give her especial attention. In the time of their ac- 
 quaintance, which was short, but of higher import than 
 a longer one less happy, he was sure that not once had 
 she shown the least impatience with the attentions of 
 which she had been the object, and with which attentions 
 he knew that he had been importunate, almost to a de- 
 gree of indelicacy. How could he help it, though? She 
 was possessed of a womanhood he had held as his ideal, 
 and which, until one week ago yesterday afternoon, he 
 had not supposed existed in mortal flesh ; for had he not 
 known intimately and well many young ladies, and had 
 not all proven lacking in the sincerity of womanly traits 
 of character which he considered indispensable? 
 
 He had told himself that this lack of womanly char- 
 acteristic in so many young women was the sole reason 
 for so many young men failing to find their ideal woman. 
 
 What if she should always refuse him! He would 
 leave Paris travel the world over. Then he might for- 
 get these days, but if he did all this, Julia Pembroke 
 would haunt his mind still; for, strange to say, during 
 the past ten days a network had formed about his heart, 
 and it was made of strong cords, for they had been 
 
 230
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 woven at the loom of True Love. And this network 
 was so ingeniously stretched that its art-pattern always 
 spelled "Julia." He was bound body and soul for this 
 was his first, his only love, and he was worshipful in 
 this love. His body might leave Paris, but his soul 
 would not. 
 
 What was the matter? The world seemed so differ- 
 ent. Had he become a cynic ? What made him so sad 
 so morbid? He knew why, but he did not want to 
 admit that he was so weak. He evaded the answer, 
 but everything he saw or looked at made him understand 
 why exactly why. He told himself he was growing 
 melancholy, but he should not be so. Did not Julia 
 smile at him ? Then Julia was not engaged ; if she were, 
 she would not have smiled. 
 
 A man, lean and fleet-footed as a deer, ran toward 
 him. He was crying, "Le Figaro," "La Patrie." 
 
 Alverstone hailed him gave him one franc for a 
 paper. The man reached in his pocket for change, but 
 Alverstone objected with, "No, no; keep it." 
 
 The man grinned, pocketed the silver coin, and, lift- 
 ing his cap, thanked his benefactor. 
 
 There is chivalry sometimes even in a gamin. 
 
 Alverstone passed the Olympia. Some few strag- 
 glers, evidently street ticket vendors, loitered before the 
 light-swept entrance, but he did not even look in, for 
 he never went into music halls. 
 
 A little farther on a column attracted his attention. 
 "Manon" at the Opera Comique he went over and read 
 it, but he had been mistaken. "Manon" was to be given 
 the Monday following; to-night "Carmen" the very 
 name was repulsive to him it recalled Madame Nitolsk. 
 No, he would not go "Tannhauser" at the Opera and 
 "Le Reveil" at the Theatre Francais. 
 
 231
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Abominable ! How many times these plays loom up 
 on the placards ! 
 
 There were two small gamins, curled up, sleeping, 
 before they would have to begin their midnight walk; 
 for all such know that to be found standing after the 
 hour of midnight means arrest by the police, a fact that 
 often proves disagreeable to the stranger in Paris, for 
 this newcomer, even though an honest, law-abiding per- 
 son, is not exempt from arrest if found standing after 
 twelve of the night. 
 
 The street was icy, and horses every now and then 
 slipped and fell; some, no doubt, glad to take advantage, 
 of the moment's rest while the distracted driver disen- 
 tangled the miserable beast. 
 
 Though great boulevards and avenues never sleep, 
 they take naps every now and then, and the Boulevard 
 des Capucines, when Alverstone finished looking at the 
 column of amusements, had just rubbed its eyes and was 
 awaking from one of those naps. All of a sudden, as if 
 a world had been created by magic, the great boulevard 
 began to stir. Some people were going to and from the 
 cafes, others of the fashionable world were going to the 
 Opera. Of course, they rode in their cabs, and had obvi- 
 ously been at Madame de Somebody's reception or 
 Christmas ball, and only went to the Opera because they 
 knew that from the position they occupied in their boxes 
 they could be seen and admired ; for they were skillfully 
 made up, both men and women, and the fair ones had 
 very magnificent costumes. 
 
 There were many creatures who wore the small cap 
 with the peak. They wedged their way through the 
 crowd when there was plenty of room on either side, or 
 they lingered in the shadow of some small paper stand 
 which was closed. These were the pickpockets and the 
 
 232
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Apaches of the city of Paris, that are never to be seen 
 w.hen a policeman is in sight. 
 
 And, too, there were many gaily-dressed women, ac- 
 companied by handsome men, and these promenaded 
 the wide sidewalk of the boulevard.. And some of the 
 fair creatures, who were obviously bored with their com- 
 panions, eyed Alverstone coquettishly, for he was a very 
 distinguished and handsome young man. There were 
 other people, evidently going early to Mass pious peo- 
 ple, who believed that only by such rigorous devotion 
 they might escape the everlasting flames. 
 
 Though both sides of the street were well filled with 
 passers-by, the north side was more crowded, for there 
 was a profusion of light on that side, and the other side 
 was dull and uninteresting in comparison, and people 
 are human millers, and bright light attracts them if they 
 are healthy or gay. 
 
 But this great boulevard looked like many other 
 great avenues and boulevards look at certain parts of 
 hours, and, like the rest of its kind, the Boulevard des 
 Capucines at some forty-five minutes past ten o'clock the 
 night before Christmas, was a great street, where fash- 
 ion promenaded and rags sauntered. 
 
 Alverstone walked on the crowd was very thick 
 every one seemed to notice him life had ceased to please 
 him solitude was what he craved he did not want to 
 distract his mind he wanted to hear his thoughts he 
 wanted to answer the odd queries his brain might put 
 to him. 
 
 He was going to the Madeleine, but it was not yet 
 time; he had a full hour and a half yet. He would go 
 to Prunier, the great Parisian restaurant, where the fin- 
 est oysters in the world are served. This restaurant was 
 on Rue Duphot; he would go there directly by quitting 
 the boulevard. So he crossed the street and turned down 
 
 233
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 i 
 one of those small streets which go off great boulevards. 
 
 Nothing was stirring. The small shops were closed 
 and barred for the night. The street was as silent as a 
 catacomb. How different some streets can be, with no 
 apparent wall or separation a poor quarter adjoins a 
 rich quarter a silent a noisy one. Paris is without 
 visible walls through the city, though there are walls 
 formed by neighborhood conditions. It is modern, but 
 clings to some things medieval. 
 
 Alverstone walked quickly. He was glad to be alone. 
 Near a corner where a rather wide street intersects a 
 small one he heard voices speaking hurriedly. He was 
 not a sensitive or guilty man, so he walked on and did 
 not alter his pace as he approached the spot where the 
 speakers were half concealed. When he had almost 
 come upon them he heard a man's voice say, "As strong 
 as possible," and he saw the outline of two figures as 
 they left their place of concealment and parted. One 
 was a lean, bending figure, which carried carefully a 
 long pasteboard box under the arm, and scudded away 
 like a spider with a newly caught fly proudly and 
 stealthily. The companion glided away like a serpent. 
 Whether man or woman, it was hard to determine from 
 the long cloak a half mantilla which wrapped the en- 
 tire form; yet when judged from height, might be that 
 of a man; yet, judged from the rapid glide, might be 
 that of a woman. 
 
 The shaggy ponderous creature hailed a cab and was 
 out of sight around* a corner, while the very tall, bending 
 one went in an opposite direction. 
 
 Very odd, very odd, thought Alverstone, but he did 
 not hasten his pace, though as he crossed the wide inter- 
 secting street he heard a noise and a sharp click. No 
 doubt the tall, bending figure had gone in somewhere 
 down the rather wide street, and the noise was the shut- 
 
 234
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 ting of a door, and the click the turning of a key in its 
 lock. 
 
 Paris is a great city, and while certain people may 
 be noticeably interested in certain others, the world at 
 large does not spy. 
 
 Paris has many peoples, and who can say who they 
 are where they come from or what they are doing? 
 Each one is living his own life the life of a great 
 city. 
 
 A badaud may seem overinterested in two pretty feet, 
 or a twisted cravat. A gamin or a grown up one may 
 haunt a certain street because some one there has a sym- 
 pathetic heart. A demonstrative youth may play or 
 sing out his heart beneath a dark window that is never 
 opened at day, never lit by night. 
 
 There are trees on which blossoms bloom, then blow 
 away such flowers are these the badaud the gamin 
 and the grown-up one, and the sighing youth; but 
 there are also leaves on all trees, and these leaves are 
 the other people its majority the people who live on 
 Paris, by Paris and for Paris. 
 
 The door which Alverstone had heard close was that 
 of a pharmacy. The key that had turned was the big 
 night key; the tall, bending figure, that of a chemist. 
 
 Alverstone had surmised aright when he conjectured 
 that the tall, bending figure with the long pasteboard box 
 had closed a door and turned a key in its lock. 
 
 As the apothecary shut the door and turned around 
 the low burning lights of the shop fell upon his face. 
 Even though the high forehead was powerfully intel- 
 lectual, there was something disagreeable in its narrow- 
 ness. It was the forehead of a willful man; a man that 
 stoops to anything; that blindfolds innocence, that forces 
 reluctancy, that cajoles frivolity, that makes partner of 
 
 235
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 evil. He was a dangerous man! The prominent tem- 
 ples and the slanting forehead told that. He was a cun- 
 ning, crafty man; the contraction of the eyes, the placid 
 brow and the set of the mouth marked that. It was a 
 hideous visage the narrow half square jaw, the painful 
 stretch of the sallow skin, from the high cheek bones 
 to the chin; the small, distorted, almond-shaped eyes, 
 which glittered menacingly with their seemingly pointed 
 irises; eyebrows which grew up instead of down at their 
 outer ends. 'His long, almost emaciated hands were well 
 kept, but too tapering at the fingers, and they clutched 
 like locks around the long pasteboard box which he held 
 under his arm. 
 
 "Still here? I have something for you to do." 
 
 The voice was low, insinuating, though decided. Tt 
 was the Greco-Morisco-Egyptian Jean Baptiste Alia 
 Dekkah, chemist and general pharmacist, on a rather 
 wide street in the city of Paris, who spoke. 
 
 The young man addressed did not look up from his 
 work, but went on diligently pasting labels on dark 
 brown bottles. He had reached about the middle of his 
 twenties, and must have been of about medium height, 
 though that could not be judged, for he was sitting. 
 He had black hair, blue eyes and a very small mouth. 
 The dingy light from an oil lamp, which had an irregu- 
 lar wick, shone full in his face. It was a free counte- 
 nance, but there was a fearful, hunted look in the blue 
 of the eye, and a helpless anxiety in the relaxed, quick 
 movement of the hands. He was the clerk of Alia Dek- 
 kah. His name was Pierre Agneau, and his mother was 
 the concierge of the building on the Rue la Perouse, 
 where the young American singer, Julia Pembroke, lived. 
 
 The clerk said nothing, and the chemist went on, 
 while he slowly opened the long pasteboard box and 
 carefully lifted the heads of many large deep red roses. 
 
 236
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "There are one dozen American Beauty roses very 
 beautiful very," he added, half to himself, while he 
 darted a side look at the clerk, who had left his high 
 stool and was now watching the pharmacist as he lifted 
 the roses out and laid them in a row on the broad counter. 
 There was no delicacy, no art, about this man. And as 
 he continued to scrutinize the face of the clerk there was 
 an ugly gloating gleam in the center of the pointed irises 
 of the almond-shaped eyes. 
 
 Pierre looked at the roses with lingering eyes. They 
 were so beautiful, so perfect. He loved the beautiful, 
 and the roses looked like living creatures, twisted in soft, 
 caressing velvet, spun on a magic loom in Paradise. 
 They had hearts that throbbed far down in the center 
 of all this outer loveliness. They were almost human, 
 but they never whispered a prayer this was what Pierre 
 thought. Perhaps, though, in their beauty of form, of 
 color, of perfume, they do pray at least these are their 
 offerings of praise to God. 
 
 The chemist counted them one dozen. He held them 
 six in each hand, saying : "You are the most brilliant and 
 most earnest clerk I have ever had. If you continue 
 with me for five years as you have the past two, I shall 
 make you a joint-partner. Eh! does that not please 
 you?" 
 
 The clerk, who had returned to his high stool, dili- 
 gently continued his work. The chemist went on exam- 
 ining the roses ; and, continuing, said : 
 
 "Pierre, this is what I have for you to do" the 
 chemist held up the dozen roses. "I will give you the 
 two hundred francs if you powder these flowers." 
 
 "Ah, oui, Monsieur, with all my heart. And I shall 
 have the money the two hundred francs?" he added, 
 with a half timid, incredulous voice, not unmixed with 
 awe. 
 
 237
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "The two hundred francs in gold are yours when 
 one dozen roses are powdered. But this must be done 
 to-night not later than one hour and a half. Morbleu! 
 it is easy." 
 
 The mother of the clerk, Pierre, had for the past four 
 years collected, as concierge for the building on the Rue 
 La Perouse, the rentals due and paid quarterly by its 
 lodgers. The proprietor had been the old Marquis de 
 Vendoire. At the end of every three months he had 
 come himself to get the rentals which the concierge had 
 collected. He was never overbearing, but dignity and 
 born station always walked with him. One year ago the 
 old Marquis had died. He had left no ascending heir 
 to the vast estate of Vendoire, on the Gironde, so the 
 old Marquis had chosen a guardian, to be appointed 
 after his death. The guardian was a shrewd man, an 
 ex-banker and acting Exchange man. Now, the time as 
 collector of the building of the deceased Marquis de 
 Vendoire had changed, and the guardian never came 
 in person. At the end of every three months an astute, 
 haughty secretary demanded and pocketed, without civil- 
 ity, the collected sum. One year had passed, minus two 
 weeks, since the death of the old Marquis, when the 
 secretary came on hjs trimestrial call. 
 
 The unfortunate concierge had told him that she 
 had lost two hundred francs; she had begged him to 
 believe her story, that the missing sum must have fallen 
 on the staircase, and that some stranger mounting at the 
 same time must have seen the bank bills and picked them 
 up. She had asked the secretary to take five months 
 off her pay. 
 
 The secretary had said nothing. It was to be seen 
 he disbelieved her, and he must have succeeded in mak- 
 ing the guardian think as he did, for two days after 
 
 238
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 his call the concierge had received a letter, which ran 
 thus: 
 
 "Monsieur du Renarbeaumuseau, my secretary, tells 
 me that in your collections for the three months just 
 passed you have failed to deliver the sum due. Three 
 weeks are given for the remittal of the missing two 
 hundred francs. 
 
 [SIGNED] "J- E. MONTE, Executor of the Estate of 
 the Late Marquis de Vendoire." 
 
 When Alia Dekkah offered Pierre two hundred francs 
 if he would powder the roses, the agony of the mother 
 at loss of her two hundred francs bore in upon the soul 
 of the clerk, and that was why he had sprung from 
 his stool and eagerly grasped the opportunity to furnish 
 his mother with sufficient money to make good her loss 
 why! two hundred francs meant the saving of all that 
 Pierre loved best in the world his mother from prison. 
 
 "Monsieur, how kind you are ! I can never repay 
 you." And the clerk went to where the chemist was 
 standing, and, catching the long, emaciated hand in his, 
 grasped it and shook it long looking all the while 
 steadily, half in adoration, into the unhealthy face of 
 "his leader, his grace." 
 
 "There, my boy, I am glad to see you happy. When 
 you asked me for the two hundred francs I thought of 
 it each hour, and fate has willed it that I have been able 
 at last to give it to you. It is nearing midnight I go 
 to the Madeleine the Mass is at twelve if any one 
 should call for me, you know where to find me at the 
 church or on the way from the church. I will take the 
 key with me. If any one knocks, you can open from 
 within." 
 
 239
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 The clerk was standing near the counter, looking at 
 the roses and then at the chemist so much kindness 
 on the part of Alia Dekkah so much beauty with the 
 roses. By the expression of his face it was evident 
 Pierre was thinking seriously about something he would 
 like to ask. Suddenly, as if by force, his tongue was 
 loosed: "Kind Monsieur, do you know my mother?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the chemist. "What? Speak, boy." 
 
 "Monsieur, she may go to the Madeleine ; tell her, 
 if you chance to see her, that Pierre has the two hundred 
 francs." And the clerk hid his face in his hands. 
 
 The chemist walked over to where Pierre was stand- 
 ing, and, stroking his head in fatherly fashion, said: 
 "My boy, that is all right. What you ask of me is noble. 
 The two hundred francs are yours, and the old chemist 
 does not care a farthing what becomes of the money." 
 
 While Alia Dekkah spoke he looked at himself in a 
 small mirror just behind the clerk; then he walked 
 quickly toward the door, put the key in 'the lock and 
 said, as he stood in the door, prepared to step out: 
 "Good-bye, Pierre. In one hour I will come back. 
 The powder to be used by you in preparing the roses 
 you will find in the jar with the 'X' label." He stepped 
 out quickly, pulled the door to and turned the key. 
 
 Pierre, half-dazed, heard the retreating steps of the 
 chemist on the sidewalk. He was frantic "the 'X' label. 
 Wretch wretch not to tell me before to kill some 
 person to send an unprepared soul into eternity ! Oh ! 
 Villain ! villain !" 
 
 He ran to the door and opened it. He would follow 
 the chemist; he would tell him that he was not a mur- 
 derer. He looked up and down the street, but the 
 apothecary was not to be seen. He must have gone 
 up the street, for he was going to the Madeleine. Then 
 
 240
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the clerk laughed at himself: "To trust the word of a 
 villain! Have I not left my swaddling clothes?" 
 
 Now the chemist had anticipated all this; he knew 
 Pierre was an honest French boy, and that not an iota 
 of the ignoble was found in the composition of the tiniest 
 fibre of his being. He knew that when Pierre had con- 
 sented to powder the roses he had thought they were 
 to be prepared for floral investigation perhaps preser- 
 vation of a rare kind of rose. Pierre had never thought 
 of a poison. 
 
 But Pierre wanted money, for during the two weeks 
 just past he had been almost crazed at the grief of his 
 mother, and all this the chemist knew, since Pierre had 
 asked him to lend him the two hundred francs. 
 
 When the apothecary had gone out of the pharmacy 
 he reasoned that were he to remain in the store Pierre 
 would most probably refuse to do it ; but leave the clerk 
 alone with silence and just one hour from the coveted 
 two hundred francs, and he Pierre would do it. 
 
 The chemist was not going to Mass. He might go to 
 the church, enter and look around, kneel, and his lips 
 move in prayer, but his face would never change expres- 
 sion. If in walking around in the church he should find 
 himself face to face or in a direct line from the image 
 of the Holy Virgin, or some saint, he would cross him- 
 self; for Jean Baptiste Alia Dekkah was well known 
 and often recognized by a great number of people, and 
 so, when he entered a church he must cross himself or 
 be too keenly observed. And since Alia Dekkah did not 
 always follow the path of lightness in his business 
 who knows ? maybe the very person who remarked that 
 he did not cross himself would recognize him in some of 
 his paths of darkness. Then in the windows of the 
 pharmacy, on the rather wide street, would be hung pla- 
 cards, and the door would be locked. He Alia Dekkah 
 
 241
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 would have been caught. So he crossed himself and 
 affected grave piety whenever he entered a church. Mid- 
 night Mass lasted one hour from twelve to one o'clock 
 Christmas morning. But to-night, when Alia Dekkah 
 would go to the Madeleine, he would search the main 
 steps, he would look behind the columns at the front 
 of the entrance, and, not seeing him whom he searched 
 for, he would enter the church. He would only remain 
 inside, however, a very, very few minutes; he would 
 cross himself, kneel, articulate a labial prayer, rise, and 
 would renew his search of the kneeling crowd as best 
 he could without moving. Still not seeing the one for 
 whom he was looking, he would glance around at the 
 vast, vaulted, great nave, at the flickering lights of hun- 
 dreds of tall waxen candles, at the gorgeous robes of the 
 priests, at the small boys as they continually swung the 
 censers to and fro, in which the sweet incense half burned 
 and smoked, and then he would listen to a peal of 
 music and a chorus of unseen voices, so as to foil any 
 one who might have noticed his searching look. Then 
 he would cross himself again and leave, for this scene 
 spoke of another world, where the Devil does not belong. 
 
 Alia Dekkah was to meet near or about this hour of 
 Midnight Mass, in the Madeleine, or lingering about its 
 steps, a man very much like himself, except that this 
 man had the good fortune to carry a Christian name, 
 and, therefore, people trusted him; and, being shrewd 
 and wily as Alia Dekkah himself, he had made a small 
 fortune. But he was greedy, and this was why they 
 met these two at midnight, to conclude a very long 
 and cunningly contrived scheme, which was to end the 
 life of a helpless old man. 
 
 With papers signed under duress, by which the 
 stranger, as guardian of the old imbecile which the 
 sworn statement of the chemist, who acted as doctor, 
 
 242
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 would verify the helpless (though sane) old man to be 
 could legally obtain for himself, as guardian, and Alia 
 Dekkah, as doctor, the sum of 3,000,000 francs, which 
 was to be parceled into halves between these two rascals. 
 And this was why Alia Dekkah himself did not powder 
 the roses 1,500,000 francs, his share of the old man's 
 estate, was something more than 5,000 francs ; for, even 
 though the sifting of powder deep down between the 
 petals of one dozen American Beauty roses was very easy 
 to a chemist like Alia Dekkah, yet there was great risk 
 of detection. Although Alia Dekkah only grabbed for 
 great things, he was like all his kind, he was greedy 
 for gain, and the promise of a sack of gold containing 
 5,000 francs was not at all displeasing to his avaricious 
 instinct. Therefore Alia Dekkah had asked the clerk 
 to do it, knowing that Pierre was in the direst need of 
 two hundred francs. He was certain the clerk would 
 do it ; for he himself had fallen by a like occurrence, and 
 Pierre was not as strong as he had been in his youth. 
 He knew that when Pierre should realize it was poison 
 that must be sifted upon the flowers, Pierre would follow 
 him and tell him that he could not do it; so when the 
 chemist left the door he crossed the street and turned 
 into a passageway a half alley. 
 
 He had reasoned rightly, for three seconds had not 
 passed until the chemist, from his hiding place, saw the 
 door open, saw the clerk come out and look up and down 
 the street, saw him shrug his shoulders, turn and go 
 back into the store, and then he heard the door close 
 and the inside lock snap on its spring. 
 
 After Pierre shut the door he crossed over to the 
 counter on which the roses lay. He put them into the 
 box very carefully and one by one, then he laid the 
 tissue over them, put on the cover and pushed the box 
 to the farthest end of the counter. 
 
 243
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 He would think no more about it but his mother 
 what of her? How happy she would be if the chemist 
 should see her and tell her that her son had earned 
 earned? the two hundred francs. He did not speak 
 aloud, but the meaning was very distinct to him. But, 
 then, could he tell his mother how he had earned them? 
 Would she ask? Maybe not two hundred francs, so 
 near it sounded good to hear, two hundred francs. 
 How little the world helped when one was in distress! 
 Money ! money ! 
 
 The clerk, Pierre, knew that the prison stared his 
 mother in the face. A week and she would be taken, 
 and, of course, convicted as a thief. 
 
 Never! never! he would die rather than see his 
 mother lodged in prison. She. had stood by him through 
 six-and-twenty long, weary years. He would stand by 
 her now. Yet he revolted from doing the one act that 
 alone offered what he wanted the two hundred francs. 
 Who would help him ? No one ! No one ! He remembered 
 what the priest had said when he had gone and asked 
 help of him : "My son, the sum you ask is large. I have 
 no money, and I know no one from whom to get it. 
 Trust in God." 
 
 "God" the clerk almost hissed the word "God, 
 God I asked God for help. Is this what I am to do 
 poison flowers poison some human being a priest 
 God poison death my soul lost!" At this mo- 
 ment he disbelieved in the church. He said there was 
 no God all was false. Oh! poor humanity! What was 
 government? He was becoming an anarchist. Who 
 cared for him? Why should he care if he poisoned a 
 human being? No, he cared not. He would poison any 
 one to save his mother. He would do it. 
 
 He walked over to the counter and lifted off the lid 
 from the box. He took out the roses ; his hands worked 
 
 244
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. , 
 
 rapidly while he carefully parted the outer petals, but 
 his fingers were becoming unsteady, and as he went on 
 he worked more slowly. He laid down the roses and 
 went to where the black stone jar with the "X" label 
 stood in the second row. He could easily reach it 
 why did he hesitate? It meant the two hundred francs, 
 or the prison for his mother. He stretched up his arms, 
 but they were not the arms or hands of a few moments 
 past, for now they were very nervous hands, and a steady 
 tremor shook his arms. He saw it and tried to shake 
 it off, but it was not a spell to be waved off. It was the 
 action of a struggling brain. 
 
 "How now !" and he jumped back without the jar. 
 He had ejaculated aloud and his voice sounded hollow. 
 It was some one else spoke, and yet he knew well that 
 the weird exclamation had come from no one but him- 
 self. Something was climbing up to the ceiling. It had, 
 no doubt, been walking on the cover of the jar, for the 
 outside of the jar had kept company with the inside. 
 The outside was dusty and black, and the inside was 
 black with the baneful powder. It was a spider, not very 
 large, not very small, and spiders, like evil, frequent 
 the place of ill-kept solitude. Why had he been afraid 
 of a spider? He could not answer. A chill shook his 
 frame, and his eyes stuck out of their sockets. "Come, 
 I will do it." He shook himself, and the hugely dis- 
 torted thing which had held him tightly grasped let go. 
 He was free now he understood everything plainly 
 now he was to poison one dozen roses and receive two 
 hundred francs and his mother would not go to prison. 
 That was all. He would do it. 
 
 His teeth set and his lips parted and drew back. The 
 sinister gleam of two balls which started from their 
 sockets told that what a mind willed a soul fought. His 
 arms were steady now. He could trust himself, and he 
 
 245
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 again reached for the "X" labeled jar with something of 
 demonian pride. His fingers clasped around the jar 
 one two three four the clock of the shop was strik- 
 ing. He fell back and his outstretched arms hit heavily 
 against his sides. Was this the ghost of his infancy, 
 come to taunt him? five six seven the clock went 
 on. It was unmoved it was like the world so cold! 
 so cold ! so unsympathetic ! 
 
 "God!" he fell on his knees "hast Thou no pity? 
 Help me! save me mercy! great God!" But glad- 
 ness came not. He had renounced God. He had re- 
 nounced faith, and he forgot that the mind can no more 
 momentarily change its convictions than a culprit can 
 sham the part of innocence than the earth retrace its 
 revolutions than a green blade become a red rose than 
 the soul belong to the Devil. It is the law of nature 
 it is the law of worlds it is the law of the universe 
 everything that is natural is gradual, is created and lives 
 thus. 
 
 Pierre was not altogether an extraordinary man nor 
 an immortal being. He was a noble man, and in that he 
 was extraordinary. He had a soul, and in that he was 
 immortal; but in mind and body as a whole, he was an 
 ordinary being born guileless, capable of joy or despair, 
 and dies innocent. This last innocence is often spot- 
 less, but more often stained. 
 
 Three more strikes and the clock would stop, and 
 then there would be silence Ten, sounded the clock 
 in a low swing it would strike twelve the hour 
 of midnight the hour of Holy Mass the hour his 
 mother used to take him to the Mass of Christmas eve. 
 He would take the tongue out of the clock he would 
 twist the wires it should not mock him so. He went 
 toward the clock, but recoiled something was calling 
 within him. "Pierre, remember the past remember 
 
 246
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 when you were a child, how your mother used to sing you 
 to sleep. Remember when you went to Christmas Mass. 
 Remember how your mother pleaded with you not to 
 forget your prayers when you entered the army. Re- 
 member how happy you were one hour ago, before the 
 devil whispered in at your ear. Pierre! forget not to- 
 night to pray pray now, Pierre it is the Holy Hour." 
 
 He covered his face with his hands, but tears would 
 not come. He sank down in a chair. He ran his fingers 
 through his hair, and pressed the two palms against 
 either side of his head, as if he would crush in his skull. 
 
 He listened the last stroke sounded, echoed and died 
 away. He was alone, quite alone the chemist would not 
 return for a half-hour. Why was there something more 
 than himself, more than this body, in the room? Fif- 
 teen minutes passed, and still he came to no conclusion. 
 Every now and then he would move uneasily in the chair 
 into which he had fallen. He seized its arms con- 
 vulsively and stared around the room. 
 
 Pierre Agneau had been born in a little village in the 
 center of France. When he was five years old his father 
 had died and his mother had decided to go to Paris. 
 She had quite a small fortune for a woman of her class 
 a fortune gained by dint of hard labor by her husband 
 and saving by herself. Pierre should enter a monastery, 
 for he was to become a priest. Had she ever seen her- 
 self a concierge, her son an apothecary's clerk, she never 
 had left the small, quiet village sleeping on the Loire; 
 but she saw herself in an apartment, her son a Bishop 
 maybe a Cardinal. Thus they had come and had settled 
 in Paris. Pierre had gone to the schools, and at twelve 
 had entered a monastery. Eight years had passed thus, 
 when Pierre was twenty-one. He must enter the army, 
 for he was a Frenchman. Pierre entered the army, but 
 when he left it, three years later, he did not return to the 
 
 247
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 monastery nor to the cozy apartment. He could not 
 become a priest he had seen life, and his mother's small 
 sum had dwindled away, so that now she was the con- 
 cierge of a building on Rue La Perouse. Then Pierre 
 had become the clerk of Alia Dekakh. 
 
 Why not kill the chemist when he would return 
 and -steal the two hundred francs? Pierre could easily 
 choke him choke him to death. It would be past mid- 
 night, and the policeman would be at the head of the 
 rather wide street. Then he could have the two hundred 
 francs, and he would not have to poison but he 
 would choke a man he would kill a man. Then he 
 would be a murderer and a thief a cold-blooded mur- 
 derer, too horrible ! horrible ! it would be infinitely 
 better to. poison one dozen roses and gain two hundred 
 francs. 
 
 Then the mind of the troubled man questioned so 
 rapidly that the conscience could not answer. 
 
 Two hundred francs ! two hundred francs ! two 
 hundred francs ! Pierre, who are you ? Who will give 
 you that sum? Pierre, are you a fool? Why have you 
 been so long? Come, but his voice had changed, his face 
 was that of a culprit. Pierre of five-and-forty minutes 
 past had gone. 
 
 He rose from this gloomy dialogue, where his mind 
 had been the accuser and the soul the accused, walked 
 to the counter where the roses were lying his walk had 
 changed he turned his head every now and then and 
 looked behind him. He walked over to where the stone 
 jar stood upon the second shelf. He did not hesitate 
 this time; he took it down and retraced his steps to 
 where the roses lay so helpless in their innocence of the 
 crime which they might be forced as accomplices to per- 
 petrate. He gathered them up and disappeared behind 
 
 248
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the screen he would not trust himself to let his eyes 
 rest upon them. 
 
 Fifteen minutes slipped away, and the room, which 
 had been so lately the struggle of a soul now van- 
 quished was as silent as a tomb ; but it was as it should 
 have been, for it was the tomb of a soul. 
 
 Click the key turned and a sallow face, with spider 
 eyes, thrust its head in at the opening. It was Alia 
 Dekkah, and, seeing no one, he came in and shut the 
 door. 
 
 "Pierre, Pierre." 
 
 "Well?" It was the new Pierre who answered, as 
 he emerged from behind the screen. "Here they are. 
 Where's the money the two hundred francs?" 
 
 "The the party has not paid me yet," the chemist 
 hesitated a moment, and then went on: "They are wait- 
 ing they will give me the money when I give them 
 the roses see then I will pay you" Alia Dekkah 
 moved cautiously toward the door. 
 
 "I will wait you will come back." 
 
 "Yes," replied the chemist. 
 
 He was startled, the voice was so changed, so sinis- 
 ter. He was dangerous. How his eyes gleamed! But 
 he would get over it. The first act had been a struggle ; 
 there would be no second there never was a second. 
 The chemist pushed the pasteboard box higher under 
 his arm and went out the door, turned the key and went 
 up the street. As he rounded a corner, had he been 
 listening he would have heard a tightly fitting door close, 
 but Alia Dekkah was thinking of the five thousand 
 francs he was to receive, and he forgot almost every- 
 thing except that he was to have five thousand francs 
 in a few moments, and he grew rapaciously covetous. 
 He would not part with one sou two hundred francs 
 to a clerk preposterous! No such foolishness. He 
 
 249
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 turned another corner ; there was the cab as it had been 
 prearranged. 
 
 "Thanks," said a muffled voice, and the figure in the 
 cab handed, under cover of its palm, a leather bag toward 
 the chemist. 
 
 His long, too-tapering fingers closed around the sack 
 and he uttered a few incoherent words. 
 
 Evidently it was the same mantled figure which had 
 given the chemist the long pasteboard box earlier in the 
 night some hour and a half earlier. As the cab drove 
 away Alia Dekkah did not retrace his steps to the phar- 
 macy, but went up the street in the direction of the disap- 
 pearing cab. He chuckled as he pocketed the sack it 
 was heavy. Just then he passed one of the many lamp- 
 posts which lined the small street, as they do all Parisian 
 streets, whether large or small. The light from the 
 lamp-post shone brightly, but the pedestal was thicker 
 than the pedestals of the city lamp-posts usually are. 
 
 When the concierge of the building on La Perouse 
 had left the village of Lasource with her small boy, 
 Pierre, she had left one faithful creature behind her 
 mother-in-law. She was very old three-and-seventy 
 had long since passed. This December, when she had 
 come on her Christmas visit, the concierge had told her 
 of the loss. She had listened, and, as was her custom, 
 began to pray. It was all she could do. To-night at 
 almost twelve o'clock the concierge had left for Mass. 
 She went to a near by church, and the mother-in-law 
 was left alone to guard the building and to say her 
 prayers. 
 
 Thus it happened that a little after half-past twelve, 
 the earliest minutes of Christmas morn, found a bent, 
 old woman on her knees, uttering her soulful prayer, 
 while a tall, sphinx-like figure, carrying a pasteboard 
 
 250
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 box, looked in at the window of the lodge. She had 
 evidently knocked, and wondered why the bent form did 
 not come and open the door, for the cat which had been 
 sleeping in front of the fireplace had gotten up to look 
 out into the corridor. 
 
 As the old woman mounted the stairs to the second 
 floor the figure which wore the half mantilla and carried 
 the pasteboard box followed her. 
 
 "What is this creature ? A woman, no doubt she says 
 she is, and that she is an American." Many such queries 
 presented themselves in quick succession to be answered 
 by the mind of the old woman. "No doubt, she is an 
 American, and has just landed, for she has a long, loose 
 cloak and the American abundance of veiling. That is 
 the way so many thousands of Americans look when 
 they tour in their big automobiles through my little 
 village of Lasource. Miss White what an odd name 
 but it sounds quite American. No doubt, this woman 
 this Miss White and this Miss Pembroke are great 
 friends over there in America." Here the old woman's 
 eye fell on an American flag pinned on the outside of 
 the mantilla close to Miss White's face. But the poor 
 old woman was too worried with their loss to think 
 more of Miss White or of what she was doing. Miss 
 White had spoken clearly, and seemed to conceal noth- 
 ing. It would be all right to let her in the mother-in- 
 law was from Touraine, and was innocent too innocent 
 for Paris. 
 
 They had reached the second floor, and the old wom- 
 an, while she fitted the key into the lock, eyed askance 
 the tall mantled figure. There was no light in the corri- 
 dor, except on the ground floor, for, in accordance with 
 the custom of the place, all the hall lights were extin- 
 guished after ten o'clock ; so the old woman was carry- 
 ing a candle, and the small light cast moving shadows 
 
 251
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 and barely outlined the lay of the surrounding walls and 
 floor. There was, though, enough light to discern that 
 the door which the old woman was unlocking did not 
 communicate directly with the floor of the second land- 
 ing. There were double doors, and the width of the pas- 
 sage was the same as the width of the doors. The stairs 
 were spiral and curled up and down four stories above 
 the second landing and two stories below. 
 
 Yes, she must be an American, for she spoke with 
 an accent; besides, there could be no wrong in letting a 
 young lady go into the apartment of a young lady she 
 knew in America, and the mother would tell her daugh- 
 ter-in-law when she should return from Mass. 
 
 "Since Mademoiselle is a friend, I think it will be all 
 right to let Mademoiselle in. There ! the door is opened. 
 Does Mademoiselle wish to take my candle, or shall 
 I go in and turn on the light?" 
 
 "Oh, no; I have my flash light," answered Mademoi- 
 selle, with her odd accent. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, I will leave the key in the door, and 
 when you are done, lock the door and bring me the key. 
 I will be in the lodge. If you only wait a little, you 
 may meet your friend, Mademoiselle Pembroke. She 
 went to Holy Mass at the Madeleine ; it has been at least 
 fifteen minutes since the clock struck the half after 
 twelve; she should be back in a little while." 
 
 The stranger gave a start and moved toward the 
 dark room, but the old woman did not notice it, and 
 went on: "She will be back, I am sure, and very soon, 
 too; then you can speak with her." 
 
 "You are very obliging" and the cloaked stranger 
 pushed a gold piece into the shriveled hand of the bent 
 form of the aged grandmother of honest Pierre Agneau, 
 clerk in the pharmacy of Jean Baptiste Alia Dekkah. 
 
 252
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Thanks," said the old woman ; "you are very kind 
 kinder than is some of the world," and she gave a deep 
 sigh, then continued: "Give me your blessing, generous 
 lady; I thank you, but I can not take this money, for I 
 have not earned it," and she handed back the gold piece. 
 "God will bless you," said the stranger. The words 
 were uttered mechanically, but the old woman received 
 them with the word "Amen." The stranger went into 
 the apartment and softly closed the door behind her. 
 
 She listened to the feeble steps slowly and totteringly 
 descending the stairs by the aid of the small flickering 
 light which the old woman carried in her trembling hand. 
 What a different concierge from the one she had sup- 
 posed she should find in such a building as this hand- 
 some apartment building on Rue La Perouse, in the 
 Etoile quarter of Paris! She must be carefully and art- 
 fully dealt with prevarication must be used, and if that 
 failed, falsification put in its stead. 
 
 Quick! to work! what if Miss Pembroke should re- 
 turn ! 
 
 She flashed on the light. This was evidently the 
 drawing-room, for there was a grand piano and other 
 artistic furnishings, which spoke of the singer's studio. 
 There were two large casement windows, and the cur- 
 tains not being drawn, the balustrade of a balcony could 
 be seen. The figure carrying the pasteboard box stood 
 still and looked out of the window, and then she glided 
 out of the drawing-room into the small boudoir; obvi- 
 ously, this boudoir was not suitable to her purpose, for 
 she went into the bedroom, where she paused and 
 looked around her. The room was large and airy. There 
 was an extra wide casement window. A flash of the 
 light revealed a heavy brass bed, a mahogany dresser, 
 toilet-table and chairs to match. The curtains hanging 
 at the window were ecru lace and silk the design, Cath- 
 
 253
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 erine'de Medici. There were also pale green padded 
 curtains of a rich silk, which were not drawn. 
 
 On a small stand near the mantel stood a china vase. 
 In the vase was a large bouquet of dark red roses, and 
 for the first time the muffled intruder laid down the 
 pasteboard box and made a movement as if to open the 
 box, and then did not, but walked to the small stand 
 and lifted the roses out of the vase. One of the flowers 
 fell to pieces. She uttered a low growl, and, kneeling 
 down, gathered up the petals ; then the woman stood still 
 and scanned the walls. 
 
 "There is a closet. Ha ! ha ! how stupid !" And going 
 to the closet, she opened the masked door and threw the 
 roses into it, shut the door carefully, locked it and slipped 
 the key into her pocket, saying: "This closet will not 
 open to-night. Ugh ! what do I do ?" For as she had come 
 toward the closet, in passing a high-backed chair one 
 of the roses had struck, and its petals had been scattered 
 and had fallen partly on a sofa and partly on the pol- 
 ished floor. She quickly brushed the petals off the sofa 
 and pushed them under it; but, turning abruptly, the 
 train of the mantilla swept under the sofa, gathered up 
 the petals and left them near the window. Then she 
 closed her mouth, scarcely daring to breathe, and her 
 hands worked rapidly as she parceled while she counted 
 three, six, eight, twelve the midnight visitor was al- 
 most purple in the face she was holding her breath. 
 She placed them in the vase and then lifted the vessel, 
 put it on a low stand close beside the head of the bed 
 and a little behind a large armchair. 
 
 Then hurriedly returning to where the pasteboard box 
 lay, she pushed the lid on, and, rushing to the window, 
 opened it and took a long, deep breath of pure, fresh air. 
 
 Then the neck grew long and slanting, and the body 
 instinctively drew back she was listening. There was a 
 
 254
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 sound footsteps on the pavement below those of a 
 young woman. No doubt it was Miss Pembroke. Yes, 
 they were pausing at the entrance. Hark! the footsteps 
 had ceased the great door of the building closed with 
 a jar quick! escape! she must gain the main hall! 
 must get out of this apartment, at least, before the young 
 woman should come upon this landing. The corridor 
 was dark and it was near one o'clock. There were deep 
 recesses in the corridor where she could hide. 
 
 She drew her head in and closed the casement hastily, 
 but forgot to turn the lock. Three rooms were not many 
 to cross, but the great outside door had already shut, 
 and the incomer was mounting the stairs. There was the 
 door of the apartment she hurried toward it, but there 
 was a sound of a falling body, and then something hap- 
 pened something which the intruder never forgot a 
 mighty roar of dissonance. In falling she had tried to 
 save herself, and instinctively had thrown out her hands, 
 which had struck the lowest keys of the grand piano. 
 The woman uttered a low "Diavolo." She arose and at 
 last found the door, opened it noiselessly, but she did not 
 move out into the corridor, for some one was very near 
 the door a rustling of skirts a sound of footsteps con- 
 tinued to mount the stairs. 
 
 Was it a woman ? The corridor was too black to dis- 
 cern, and did the newly arrived person come toward this 
 door? That was also uncertain, for the stairs led to 
 floors above, and this door must be passed by one going 
 to an upper landing ; also, the walls were rounded, there- 
 fore there was an echo up and down the stairway, but 
 an echo is a false voice it is like everything that is false 
 not to be trusted. 
 
 255
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The clock outside the Madeleine, just in front of the 
 steps leading up to the church, told the worshiper that 
 the hour for the Midnight Mass was at hand ; and many 
 were the hundreds of believers who thronged its sacred 
 portals, for the services held there in commemora- 
 tion of the birth of the Founder of that belief, in which 
 so many stately and magnificent churches have been 
 erected. A goodly portion of those entering at the 
 sacred portals was there, because of deep-seated devo- 
 tion. These would rather have died than have found 
 themselves deprived of the solace afforded by the ful- 
 fillment of their religious vows. 
 
 Others were there to listen to the glorious strains of 
 music, the inspiration of some devotee of the religion of 
 that Babe born upon earth some nineteen hundred years 
 before, to bring harmony and peace among mankind. 
 Though they might feel themselves not of the number 
 of believers, whose names were found upon perishable 
 books of organizations broadly named the church still 
 they were, in truth, children of God followers of Christ 
 full and firm believers in His faith; else they had not 
 been out at midnight seeking entrance to set places of 
 worship to hear the music sacred music which Christ's 
 creed had inspired within the spiritual sense of musical 
 minds. Then, too, there were others who were there 
 simply because it was fashionable to go to the Midnight 
 Mass or to the Opera as part of the form of a reveillon 
 or midnight party. Alverstone went, as he had always 
 done when in a large city, because he was a lover of 
 music, such as one hears at Midnight Mass. And, too, 
 
 256
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the great voices of the operatic world are heard to sing 
 there then, and the organ, with its wealth of glorious 
 music, is of itself sufficient to compensate for all difficul- 
 ties overcome in order to be present at a Midnight Mass ; 
 and this organ music should be divine, for only those 
 who are on the heights in ability to send out wave after 
 wave of glorious music in thunderous rolls of the grand 
 anthem, or in the rich, soul-stirring accompaniment, are 
 ever permitted to preside at this organ of the Madeleine ; 
 and this, too, after the severest examination in the world 
 an examination of the most exhaustive nature. An at- 
 tendance upon the Midnight Mass of the Madeleine in the 
 city of Paris is an event never to be forgotten in the life 
 of each person so favored, if judged only by the beauty 
 which he hears from the organ loft. 
 
 Surely no one Protestant or Catholic ever heard 
 the organ in the Madeleine and the singing at the Mid- 
 night Mass, and then went out of the church with an 
 ignoble thought rankling within his breast. 
 
 God is worshiped in spirit and in truth, and not by 
 methods. Religion is trust in God, and not trust in 
 churches of any creed or- form. 
 
 The Altar was resplendent with its mass of lighted 
 candles and glittering gold ; and, though it must strike 
 a Protestant mind very differently from that which it 
 represents to the Catholic mind, it yet carries to the Prot- 
 estant mind first, the idea of Purity, and, second, the 
 undying Faith of the devotee. 
 
 The front seats were filled by those whose move- 
 ments indicated that they were active communicants of 
 that belief, while in the rear of the church were majiy 
 who, fully as earnest in their devotions as those in the 
 front seats, were less numerous some in pairs, others in 
 groups, and too, many a lone figure knelt at the Midnight 
 
 257
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Mass perhaps the better to worship in this entire isola- 
 tion. 
 
 The space back of the seats was more than comfort- 
 ably filled with the very large number of those, most of 
 whom came only for a few minutes. 
 
 Alverstone had gone up quite a distance on the right 
 side of the church and formed one of the many standing 
 there. As yet only what, to Alverstone, were simply mo- 
 tions of the priests at the High Altar, were to be seen; 
 so he looked about him in a quiet, unobtrusive manner. 
 After a survey of the church in general he turned his 
 attention to the people about him. 
 
 There was the old woman of humble birth, but with 
 the calmness of peaceful trust in God, lighting her face, 
 for which the most powerful potentate must envy her: 
 she was there to celebrate in spirit and in truth the birth 
 of the Babe, whose advent upon earth meant "Peace and 
 good will toward men." And this she believed, and in 
 this peace her soul rested. 
 
 Yonder stood the man of fashion, and a little beyond 
 was another, seated. They were of the same mold 
 nothing of Nature's hand was visible about them, for the 
 hand of Fashion had made them from one mold. Poor 
 fellows ! no doubt, they were doing their little in a devo- 
 tional way, the result, perhaps, of many generations of 
 devout ancestry ; but, so far as they were concerned, there 
 remained only to them the form, for they were very curi- 
 ously ruled by their abnormally developed faculties of 
 self-esteem. 
 
 Then there were many from among those who are 
 known as the class who never toil, who never spin, who 
 live as they say by divine right. 
 
 Everywhere Alverstone turned his head were to be 
 seen markedly representative persons from every walk of 
 life. 
 
 258
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Suddenly his ear heard not the discourse of eternal 
 life as spoken to his soul by the powerful organ, though 
 it continued transmitting the heavenly message as before ; 
 for the harp of a thousand strings had ceased its func- 
 tion, and Love beauteous goddess had taken up the 
 harp of Life and had struck the deepest, strongest, the 
 most passionate chord of that harp the Chord of Love. 
 
 Seated some little distance before him was Julia 
 Pembroke. 
 
 He had often wondered if there was such a thing as 
 crushing love, or if it were not a something which was 
 capable of manufacture only. But now he told himself 
 it was a reality, and that he himself had felt its power 
 nay, was feeling its crushing weight at this moment, and 
 as truly as ever did any lover of whom he had ever read 
 or heard. He felt sick at heart. A girl of her will- 
 power would not be easily persuaded to forsake her 
 musical career for the life of a woman at the head of a 
 home, nor would she be willing to divide her life between 
 devotion to her art and devotion to a husband and his 
 interests. "No," he thought on, "she is beyond me; I 
 am sure no amount of persuasion will suffice to win her." 
 
 He looked at the neat, trim, young woman, wrapped 
 in the solitude of her own contemplations. He felt him- 
 self in love with the pretty little hat upon her daintily 
 poised head; with the swelling roll of rich golden hair; 
 with the comb and pins which held it firmly in a neat 
 coiffure; with those exquisitely delicate pink shell ears, 
 set so beautifully upon the sides of the head ; and, above 
 all, with that inexplicably perfect poise of the head upon 
 the shapely neck. And only the most queenly of queens, 
 he thought, ever had such shoulders. 
 
 Alverstone saw by a glance around him that the 
 beautiful young woman was admired by more pairs of 
 eyes than those of himself, and he gathered courage to 
 
 259
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 move forward, until he hoped their eyes might meet. 
 And then he felt that he would be very proud indeed 
 to exchange smiles; and, if perchance she should speak, 
 that would be supreme. She might not like him to ad- 
 dress her here. True, she was a Protestant, like himself, 
 but he felt she was a great respecter of all forms of the 
 Christian religion. 
 
 Without knowing just how, he found himself in the 
 seat behind her, but a little to her left ; then leaning for- 
 ward, he addressed her with : "Good evening, Miss Pem- 
 broke." 
 
 Julia at once turned, and, putting her hand before her 
 mouth, said: "Merry Christmas, Mr. Alverstone. Come 
 sit beside me here." 
 
 Alverstone arose and took the seat made vacant by 
 Julia, for she had been seated in the end, and had moved 
 in to make a place for him. His cup of delight was full ; 
 he was seated beside this American singer this girl 
 whom he loved as no man ever before loved, he thought. 
 
 She had been much surprised to find him there in the 
 seat behind her, but she betrayed no surprise, for, having 
 spent the past six years in the heart of the city of Paris, 
 she was what Victor Hugo pronounces "a Parisian," and 
 Parisians are never off guard in matters of etiquette. 
 
 The choir here ceased singing, but the organ con- 
 tinued. 
 
 "I am fortunate to find myself here to-night. One 
 would think we had met by appointment," said Alver- 
 stone. 
 
 Julia looked up at him and smiled ; then, after a pause, 
 in which neither spoke, she whispered : "I have attended a 
 Midnight Mass each Christmas I have been in Paris, 
 but" she leaned closer toward him and held up her little 
 portemonnaie before her mouth, while she whispered be- 
 
 260
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 hind it "and this is the first time I have been so for- 
 tunate as to have a gentleman with me." 
 
 Then she felt her face glow richly, for Alverstone 
 had glanced at her very abruptly, and she feared from his 
 motion that she had said more than he had expected her 
 to say. 
 
 "I wish you would allow me the right to be with you 
 by your side every Christmas eve in our future," he 
 answered. Then he leaned closer toward Julia and said, 
 in continuation : "Be my bride. Answer yes. Will you?" 
 
 The corners of Julia's mouth drew back so sweetly 
 that Cupid would have lingered in admiration were he 
 not at this instant in most strenuous action ; but she spoke 
 no reply to the words of Alverstone, nor did she look at 
 him. A pallor now took the place which an instant before 
 had glowed in the warmth of loving confusion; but, 
 though she spoke not, he had been pleased with the 
 thought which he knew held her. 
 
 Then there was a silence for some time, and each 
 gave attention to the service, when suddenly he addressed 
 Julia with the remark: "I thought you were at the 
 reveillon at Madame Nitolsk's." 
 
 "Oh, no," replied Julia; "Madame Nitolsk's little 
 child, Adino, was very ill yesterday afternoon." 
 
 Now all singing and chanting had ceased, but peal on 
 peal from the organ loft rolled in sublime swellings of 
 the glorious music. 
 
 Julia, sitting beside Alverstone, under the spell of this 
 divine in the beautiful of organ music, found herself 
 drawn closer and closer within the loving bond which 
 seals two happy hearts; she found herself experiencing 
 the loneliness of her condition without without him in 
 her life in close, quick touch with every day of her fu- 
 ture. Her art ah! her art! what had she to do with 
 art when it was placed in the balance and against an 
 
 261
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 affair of the heart an affair of life or death? For with- 
 out Alverstone life were a failure, and to her failure 
 meant death. While with him she could see her future, 
 bright, beautiful and useful to the fullest extent possible. 
 Art dear, dear, beautiful art of song faded far off 
 adown a long vista ever diminishing to the point of van- 
 ishing. Yet she cared not. The Maestro Novara's wish- 
 es were not even favored with a passing thought; and 
 consideration of Madame Cinati's opinions upon the mat- 
 ter were in company with thoughts of Maestro Novara 
 forgotten. In fact, she scarcely saw anything but the 
 splendid young man at her side, and she heard little now 
 but the delicious melody contained in the words: ''Be 
 my bride. Answer yes. Will you?" 
 
 No music ever written by any of the inspired writers 
 could equal the beauty of these seven words just spoken 
 by Hampton Alverstone to Julia Pembroke. 
 
 She urged upon herself that there was nothing want- 
 ing in this man, who would be her choice among a mil- 
 lion. She knew he was her ideal. She might not in a 
 lifetime again know such a man and in such a relation to 
 her. She raised her head and turned half toward him, 
 but did not look at him. She wanted to speak, but some- 
 thing, seemingly in the air, disturbed her. She struggled 
 desperately within herself for freedom from the grasp 
 of that terrible something. Finally, she turned and looked 
 up at Alverstone, when she thought she felt the air 
 around her clear. 
 
 But soon again came the giddy desire. She seemed 
 to lean toward him ; she felt herself in truth inclining her 
 body toward him, and she knew that she was not at all 
 annoyed by the sensation. On the contrary, she thought 
 it to be her right, if she wished to do so, for was not he 
 her husband, if only a very short ceremony were per- 
 formed! And were not the ceremony easily performed, 
 
 262
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 if only she would promise if only she would pronounce 
 the monosyllabic word, in answer to his suit for her hand 
 in marriage? He was her fellow-countryman, and they 
 were of the same social rank in the home-land, and they 
 loved; and if only she would answer,, they were the 
 founders of a new home if only she would answer 
 "yes." She believed she would do so. How could she 
 ever master that overwhelming desire always to have 
 him by her side? No, she could not do it. She could 
 live without song, but she could not live without this 
 man this man who had offered her his fortune, his posi- 
 tion, his name; but, best of all, his love the love of a 
 man of sterling worth. And he loved her for herself 
 he knew nothing of her money so he loved her for her- 
 self herself alone. And she was sure that his wealth 
 had never influenced her in the least, for she was wise, 
 and knew that the lyric soprano who was finishing with 
 Maestro Novara would have much money far, far more 
 than she could possibly use. And so she was not forced 
 to marry for money it was love pure love this she 
 knew. 
 
 Here Julia awoke from her love dream, for there 
 floated out upon the air soaring far up into the utter- 
 most heights of the magnificent edifice filling all space 
 within and thrilling the worshiping souls with its blessed 
 truths, told in a setting of richest melody: "Minuit, 
 Chretien c'est I'heure solennelle Ou I'homme Dieu de- 
 scendit jusqu'a nous." The rich tones of the great bary- 
 tone of the Opera sounded forth from the choir like the 
 call from a sublime clarion. 
 
 He was praising his Master with his God-given tal- 
 ent, for no one who heard him on that Holy eve could 
 have thought him other than inspired in the singing of 
 the sacred song. 
 
 263
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Julia's face was instantly transformed. Not a trace 
 of the power of undying love for the man at her side 
 remained, and she seemed a glorified saint sitting there 
 and waiting for her transfiguration. 
 
 "Ah!" she thought; "there is the secret of my suffer- 
 ing. This prelude, to which I gave no heed, but which 
 bore in upon me in through my unconsciousness in 
 upon my delirium of joy this prelude to my dear dead 
 father's song." She moaned the last two words, and an 
 accompanying tear gathered and overflowed upon her 
 cheek, then another and another chased in such quick 
 succession that she put up her soft kerchief and caught 
 them before they had time to tell their tale of sad mem- 
 ories. The reactionary force of the regretful thought 
 that in her love-reverie she could be mute to that favorite 
 song of her dear departed father would not pass without 
 first swaying an emotion of tender, filial devotion to his 
 memory; for Bertram Pembroke had loved to sing this 
 song, and it had been Julia's happiest hour when she had 
 played an easy accompaniment to his singing of it. 
 
 And to-night she had heard no music except the mel- 
 ody of her love, which ran to the accompaniment the 
 love of Alverstone. In this state of ecstatic bliss how 
 was she to know that the organ had taken up the prelude 
 to that beautiful Christmas hymn "Noel"? Oh! fatal 
 hour ! In these sweeping recollections of her father's last 
 night upon earth. "Darling, darling papa," she thought ; 
 "I shall not forget what you told me of my dear moth- 
 er's wishes. I am a singer, papa, and I will sing." 
 
 Almost simultaneously with the thought, she turned 
 to Alverstone and said, quietly and kindly: "Mr. Alver- 
 stone, I can not marry any one. If I had not come to 
 this decision long before now, I am sure that I should 
 be happy to become your wife ; but I am married to my 
 art, and can not accept an offer in marriage." Unshed 
 
 264
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 tears in her eyes were visible to Alverstone, and he be- 
 lieved what she said. 
 
 He had been listening to the singing of "Noel'' with 
 much interest and delight, for he was at rest he was so 
 sure that Julia would answer in the affirmative. He knew 
 her to be incapable of trifling, and he was certain, that 
 smile she had given when last she had turned her eyes 
 upon him meant peace to his love-sick soul ; so that when 
 she had turned and had given her answer in the negative, 
 he was for a time hopelessly lost in confusion. 
 
 But he quickly recovered his wonted equanimity of 
 spirits, and, smiling kindly upon her, said: "Very well, 
 Miss Pembroke; I am glad, however, to know that I 
 have no rival but your song, and when you tire of my 
 rival I hope I shall not be forgotten. I shall love you 
 always always." 
 
 Julia smiled, and the smile lit her face and eyes alike. 
 Alverstone had learned to love this smile, for its own sake 
 as well as for the reason that it was representative of 
 the thought the living part of the woman whom he 
 had loved the instant his eyes had fallen upon her and 
 whom he had loved every instant of his life since. 
 
 Then she spoke and said: "Thank you; I am sure 
 that I love you equally well." 
 
 Alverstone sat very still for some moments after 
 Julia's reply to his little speech of acceptance of her final 
 decision. Then he felt himself growing dizzy the Altar, 
 its candles, the moving priests in front of it all were 
 growing indistinct. He thought he had become faint. 
 He bent toward Julia and said: "I am very sorry, Miss 
 Pembroke, but I find I must leave you." 
 
 "Ah! indeed!" replied Julia; "I should like you to 
 remain. A Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Alverstone." 
 
 265
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Pembroke ; the protection of all the 
 spirits of Christmas go with you, and may only happi- 
 ness attend you." 
 
 Julia smiled again, but Alverstone saw it not, for he 
 was very dizzy; and, though he looked at her, her face 
 was not distinct. In fact, he would not have known her. 
 After the exhange of good nights he went toward the 
 door. 
 
 The song went on in an almost martial rhythm : 
 
 "Le monde entier tressaille d'esperance." 
 
 Before reaching the door Alverstone was forced to 
 stand aside and wait the passing of a number of persons 
 at that moment coming into the church. While he waited 
 the cool, fresh air coming in at the open door revived 
 him, and he felt the faintness pass. He turned and looked 
 back at Julia, for from his position he could see more 
 than half of her face, and it was worth his while to stop 
 and look. Though the people entering the church had 
 passed on, and he could have gone out, he had forgotten 
 to move, or else he preferred to stay. 
 
 Julia, all unconscious of anything but the song then 
 singing, had given herself up to the sentiment therein con- 
 tained that sacred song- sacred because it told so 
 sweetly the story of God's gift to man, and sacred be- 
 cause it was a memory of her father. How could her 
 face wear other than an expression celestial when all 
 within her soul was in communion with her dead father 
 her dead mother her beloved grandmother ? There, too, 
 was her Savior, before Whose throne, in the heaven of her 
 belief, she saw the group of her dear dead ones adoring. 
 Yes, there was surely a halo surrounding Julia Pembroke 
 as she sat within that church and held this sweet com- 
 munion with the saints above. 
 
 Alverstone saw it and felt the truth that he loved a 
 very superior kind of woman. 
 
 266
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Noel! Noel! void le Redempteur," went on climbing 
 to the heights in the climax. 
 
 Alverstone thought Julia no longer in the flesh. He 
 was glad that he had gone from her side, if only at a 
 distance he was permitted to behold this transcendent 
 beauty. 
 
 A number of persons who had just entered filled the 
 seat behind Julia, and now Alverstone could no longer 
 see her face, so he went out and away from the most 
 impressive scene of his life. He was not entirely free 
 from a feeling of disappointment at failure to win the con- 
 sent of Julia to become his bride, but he was yet happy in 
 the knowledge that she would marry him if she ever mar- 
 ried any one ; and, too, he had only her career for a rival 
 happy thought happy thought. 
 
 He knew that the word of a gentlewoman of his na- 
 tive land was sacred as her honor, and that when to this 
 gentility was added integrity of will and purpose, implicit 
 confidence might be reposed therein. 
 
 When Julia stepped from her cab at the entrance of 
 her apartment house it was a quarter of the second hour 
 of Christmas morn. The driver was kind, and for the 
 small gratuity, which Julia never failed to give, he showed 
 his gratitude by descending from his high- little seat to 
 ring the bell three times, as Julia had directed three 
 rings being the number by which the concierge should 
 know it was Miss Pembroke who rang. Julia was per- 
 mitted the use of the cab until the door of the house 
 opened, which was immediately after 'the ringing; but 
 sometimes it was not so soon, for then the concierge 
 slept sounder than usual. 
 
 As the ponderous door swung to again Julia went to 
 the spot where the concierge always put her key, if Julia 
 was returning from opera or other affairs after ten 
 
 267
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 o'clock, which was the hour for the putting out of lights 
 in the corridor and halls. She saw a light in the lodge of 
 the concierge, and, thinking this signified illness, her first 
 impulse was to make inquiry if anything unusual had 
 happened; but again she thought it partook of the curi- 
 ous, so she went on to get her key. It was not there., 
 She flashed her electric light around, thinking it might 
 have fallen upon the ground, but it was not there. Then 
 she went toward the lodge door, glad that she had an 
 excuse to speak with the inmates before she went up- 
 stairs. At the same instant she had turned, the concierge 
 opened the door and came out. She handed Julia the 
 key, saying: "Pardon, Mademoiselle; I forgot to put out 
 the key." 
 
 Julia saw by the light of the lodge that her face 
 was swollen from passionate weeping, but the concierge 
 quickly turned her back, evidently with the desire to hide 
 her face, and Julia hesitated to intrude upon her afflic- 
 tion. She took her key and started to go upstairs. Then 
 a flood of golden meaning of this night the sentiments 
 of Christmas eve filled her soul, as with a burst of daz- 
 zling sunshine; all earthly sentiment was gone as shad- 
 ows before the radiance of brilliant glory of a summer's 
 sun. 
 
 She turned and asked: "Is any one ill?" 
 
 "Oh, no, Mademoiselle ; but I have lost two hundred 
 francs, and I must replace them or go to prison. It is 
 rental I had collected from the lodgers. It must have 
 dropped on the stairway, for I can not find it in the 
 lodge, and, Mademoiselle, I must go to prison if I do 
 not get it. Pierre, my son, tried to borrow it ; but even 
 the priest, our only helper, could not aid us he has no 
 money at all, he says." 
 
 She had" turned on a small electric light near the foot 
 of the stairs, and Julia could see that she was almost 
 
 268
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 distracted in her grief. Julia could not interrupt the 
 volubility with which she had delivered herself of this 
 torrent of woe. The young American singer could not 
 witness anguish and offer no means of alleviation, on 
 this especial occasion, under the sweet influence of her 
 experience at Midnight Mass, where she had enjoyed not 
 only the highest of earthly sentiments, but where she had 
 also communed so intimately with joys celestial that she 
 had seemed to be entirely absent from her earthly habita- 
 tion the body. 
 
 She quickly decided on a plan. She had listened to 
 the story of the grief-stricken woman. 
 
 "Stay here till I come back." 
 
 Almost immediately she returned, and, standing on 
 the second step from the bottom, wHere the electric light 
 shone full upon her, the concierge thought of pictures of 
 angels, and well she might, for had not Julia the im- 
 mortal part of Julia been that night where only the 
 purified may hope to come? Had she not been with the 
 saints in Paradise, and was she not now performing an 
 act, the outgrowth of those most beautiful sentiments 
 the sentiments of the teachings of her Savior, in Whom 
 she trusted? 
 
 "Here," said Julia, holding out her right hand, with 
 the back upward and the fingers closed tightly over some- 
 thing hidden within. 
 
 But the concierge only looked at her in bewilderment 
 and in saddest dejection. 
 
 Then Julia bent forward, and, putting out her left 
 hand, said: "Give me your hand." 
 
 The woman timidly lifted up her right hand, and 
 Julia, taking it, put the treasure, hidden in her own right 
 hand, into it. 
 
 "There," she said, closing the fingers of the concierge 
 over it; "there is American gold. Take it to the pro- 
 
 269
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 prietor's agent and he will know. It is more than two 
 hundred francs. This will pay your two hundred francs 
 due him, and he will give you back some money." 
 
 The concierge looked from the two bright American 
 pieces to the beaming face of her savior, for Julia had 
 saved her from the prison and in this was her savior. 
 On that blessed night the concierge was made doubly 
 blessed blessed for the gift of the Savior the Dove of 
 Peace Who had redeemed her soul, and blessed for the 
 gift of two pieces of American gold two double eagles 
 which redeemed her body. 
 
 Julia had kept this little bag of gold, which had been 
 given her by her father on their last evening together, 
 for Madame Cinati had asked her to do so; at least she 
 had asked Julia to draw upon her bank account, at Credit 
 Lyonnaxis. 
 
 The concierge clasped her hands tightly and prayed 
 a sincere prayer for Julia for her health for her suc- 
 cess and especially did she invoke all the saints of her 
 calendar to watch over Miss Pembroke and to keep her 
 from all harm. 
 
 As Julia was making the turn at the first landing on 
 her way to her apartment, she looked down at the pray- 
 ing figure which knelt in humble supplication, in thankful 
 supplication, and smiled good night. Then she went up 
 to her apartment on the second floor. 
 
 Some time after Julia had retired she was awakened 
 by strains of music. She heard the music, but a lassi- 
 tude prevented her having full control of her powers. 
 She tried to think, but she could not think well. She told 
 herself it was only the heavy sleep after the nervous 
 strain of the eventful night. Then she thought the music 
 sounded clearer than was usual. She wondered if she 
 could have left the casement window ajar. She tried to 
 rise and go to see if she had neglected to secure the 
 
 270
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 knob, but her body refused to obey her will. Then she 
 felt thoroughly aroused in her mind, but still her body 
 remained motionless. Again the stupor seized her, but 
 now she knew that she must rise or succumb to its 
 treacherous embrace. She continued her endeavors to 
 move, until by sheer force of will alone she succeeded in 
 getting out of bed and staggering to the window. When 
 near it her foot slipped on something it was the bruised 
 rose petals, swept by the mantilla of the late intruder 
 and deposited just upon the spot where Julia had set 
 down her foot in staggering to the window and she 
 found herself falling. 
 
 She put out her hand and caught at the sofa near the 
 window and fell among the cushions, a number of which 
 were upon the end where her head struck. One arm 
 hung over the sofa and almost closed the window, which 
 had been pushed open by the night breezes wafted in at 
 the casement, left unlocked by mistake. 
 
 Julia had heard the pretty music she had heard that 
 beautiful serenade, "Mattinata," and after the serenade, 
 Chopin's Nocturne, Opus 9 they were both favorite se- 
 lections of hers, and, whether meant for her or not, she 
 loved to listen to them. 
 
 And who is there that would not love such music, 
 played upon a violin, a flute and a beautiful harp upon 
 the still mght air? 
 
 For a time, from her place upon the sofa, she could 
 hear the serenade, but it grew fainter and fainter; then 
 clouds floated all about her soft, fleecy, white clouds, 
 and the nocturne seemed to be sung by many thousand's 
 of seraphic voices, far off. Soon she felt herself becom- 
 ing an infinitesimally small chord, as it were she had 
 lost all sensation, and was dead except for very slight 
 sensations in the brain and in the spinal cord, and this 
 
 271
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 condition remained clear to her 'but for a short time, 
 when she lapsed into utter unconsciousness. 
 
 Though the beautiful harp had begun its solo in a 
 third number of the serenade, and the dulcet music went 
 on, Julia Pembroke heard it not. It was like the great 
 cataract, Niagara, which made no sound until there were 
 ears to hear it. 
 
 272
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 About ten o'clock Christmas morning there was a 
 loud pounding at the right-hand door on the second floor 
 of the apartment building on the Rue La Perouse. 
 
 One would naturally suppose that a door of wood 
 must quickly give way before such ponderous strokes of 
 the hammer, brought down upon the chisel with which 
 the locksmith was endeavoring to procure an entrance to 
 the apartment behind those doors, but they were made 
 of the strong wood from the trees grown in the forests 
 of Auvergne, and doors made of such wood are not to 
 be driven into defeat of the purpose for which they were 
 fashioned. The doors were paneled, and the locks and 
 hinges were of the hardest of metals, and not at all likely 
 to fail in their purpose unless the cruel file was set to 
 work upon them. 
 
 Of course, a cutting instrument will always make its 
 way through the hardest substance, no difference how 
 adamantine its properties of resistance. 
 
 Before this house had become a place for homes of 
 those who wished to rent, it had been the private 
 palace of the Duquesa de la Tarazana. This great lady 
 had held a real court, over the doings of which she had 
 presided with grace and dignity, until one sad evening 
 when she had eaten freely of that favorite French dish 
 cold fish she had taken ill and suddenly died. 
 
 This entire building was unlike other apartment 
 houses, for it had been built by this Duchess, and was a 
 quasi-mediaeval palace, fully equipped throughout as 
 were the ancient fortresses. 
 
 273
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Take off the lock. No difference what Monsieur 
 Monte will say. It is a life." 
 
 It was Madame Cinati's voice, sweet, clear, but im- 
 perious. 
 
 Then the regular sound of the unloosing of screws 
 began. It was, without doubt, a locksmith, for the turn 
 screw worked steadily and the screw did not fall to the 
 ground, as it always does if the workman is not well 
 versed in the secret deftness of his trade. 
 
 Above the din and rattle of the workman's prying, 
 twisting, hammering, pushing and lifting of the parts 
 concerned in gaining admittance to the apartment wherein 
 was the American singer, the concierge's voice was 
 heard, but the words were inaudible, for she seemed 
 speaking to herself. 
 
 Madame Cinati's clearly enunciated words came float- 
 ing out over the noise, with a distinctness as beautiful 
 as they were imperious. 
 
 "Did you see Miss Pembroke last night?" she asked 
 of the concierge. 
 
 "Ah ! oui, Madame ; I talked with her when she came 
 in from the Midnight Mass," half chattered the fright- 
 ened concierge, in answer. 
 
 "Had she dined out?" 
 
 "No, Madame, I think not. She said nothing of it 
 to me." 
 
 "Did she look ill when you gave her the key?" 
 
 "Oh! no, Madame; she looked beautiful and smiled 
 like the angels in Saint Cecilia's picture." 
 
 "Pardon, Madame," broke in the locksmith ; "there is 
 an inside bolt. Shall I file it?" 
 
 "Is that the only way?" she asked, in reply. 
 
 "Yes, that is the only way." 
 
 "Can not you find a quicker method? Mademoiselle 
 may die while we are working." 
 
 274
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "No, Madame, there is only this way, unless you allow 
 me to cut a hole in the panel to put my hand in at and 
 pull open the inside bolt." 
 
 "Do as you think is the best and quickest," said 
 Madame Cinati ; "I'll see that all losses are made good." 
 
 "I would file the bolts," said the locksmith. 
 
 "Very well," replied Madame Cinati. 
 
 The workman took up the file and worked vigorously. 
 In a very short time the bolt was cut in two and the 
 heavy door swung in upon the massive hinges. 
 
 Madame Cinati entered first, casting her glance now 
 here and now there around the room. She carried a large 
 bundle, neatly wrapped, and hurriedly put it upon the 
 sofa. Then with much alacrity she went into the bou- 
 doir. The concierge, whose bearing was one fearful of 
 finding she knew not what, yet certain it was something 
 of a direful nature, and still more certain it concerned 
 one she dearly loved, followed Madame Cinati. Seeing 
 no one in the boudoir, Madame Cinati crossed to the bed- 
 room door and opened it. 
 
 "Mon Dieu ! Julia is dead !" she exclaimed, standing 
 perfectly still just inside the room, and her hands thrown 
 up in horror. 
 
 Julia, clad in her night-robe, was lying among the 
 cushions as she had fallen when she had slipped upon 
 the rose petals. Her face was very purple and the golden 
 hair had fallen in a mass around it. 
 
 "Oh, Julia ! Julia !" cried Madame Cinati, taking her 
 by the shoulders and shaking her gently at first, and then 
 more forcibly, until in her anxiety she at last shook her 
 almost fiercely. But Julia gave no sign of conscious- 
 ness ; she heard nothing whatever of the anxious friend's 
 appeals for her to speak. 
 
 275
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Madame Cinati, finding that she. could not rouse Julia, 
 said : "Go for the doctor, Dr. Hertzborne fetch me some 
 wine, concierge; I'll try to get some into her mouth." 
 
 Suddenly stopping, on hearing nothing, Madame Cin- 
 ati found she was alone, for the concierge had gone. She 
 arose, and, going out to the door, saw that the concierge 
 was literally flying down the steps. She returned to Julia, 
 quite sure that it was for the doctor the concierge had 
 gone ; but on reentering the bedroom from the fresh air 
 in the hall she wondered why she had not before noticed 
 the heaviness of the atmosphere within the room. She 
 went directly to the casement window and opened it 
 wide. The cool, fresh air now swept in, as the sun had 
 done, when the concierge before had pushed back the 
 heavy curtains. 
 
 Then the great singer knelt down by Julia and con- 
 tinued her efforts at reviving her. 
 
 As soon as the concierge had seen Julia she had fled 
 and had run for the nearest doctor. She had not found 
 him, but she had left an order, and he would come soon. 
 She had hurriedly returned to the lodge and picked up 
 her own little medicine case and some wine, which the 
 frightened mother-in-law had in readiness as soon as her 
 daughter had told her, and, breathless, the concierge 
 rushed up to the apartment to do what she could. 
 
 "Monsieur, the doctor, will come soon," she panted, as 
 she rushed into the room. "I brought this box of medi-: 
 cine, and here is a vinaigrette ; it may help to revive her. 
 Oh! but she has not moved," half sobbed the concierge, 
 as she bent over Julia and looked into her face. "I fear 
 she may never come to again." 
 
 "Well, we will do all we can. What have you in the 
 bottle?" 
 
 "It is wine. I got it out of the cellar. It is very good 
 the finest, Madame." 
 
 276
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 While saying this she poured out some wine into a 
 glass. 
 
 "Get that cup on the mantel and put the wine into 
 it; I can get it to her mouth much more easily," said 
 Madame Cinati, who was chafing Julia's hands and fore- 
 head and trying to arouse her, but Julia moved not. She 
 took the cup of wine, and, lifting Julia's head, tried to put 
 it between her lips. 
 
 "Oh, no!" objected the concierge; "Madame can not 
 do it that way. I will show Madame, if she will allow 
 me." 
 
 "How ?" asked Madame Cinati, for she had seen that 
 she could not get Julia's mouth open. 
 
 "A minute, Madame, if you please," said the con- 
 cierge. She left the room and soon returned with a sil- 
 ver spoon, which she put into the cup, saying as she did 
 so : "I will open Mademoiselle's mouth and the Madame 
 will put in very little sips of the wine, very, very little. 
 It will trickle down her throat and yet not strangle 
 Mademoiselle." 
 
 This they did, until a teaspoonful had disappeared 
 the concierge constantly massaging the throat and mov- 
 ing the head from side to side very gently, doing all in 
 the deft manner of a trained nurse. 
 
 "Here, if Madame tries this salts, I know it will be 
 good." 
 
 Madame Cinati took the bottle and placed it to Julia's 
 nostrils. 
 
 "There," she said; "you rub her hands gently, but 
 firmly, and I'll rub her face. I think we can revive her." 
 
 After some minutes of persistent effort at resusci- 
 tation, Julia turned her head to one side. 
 
 "Ah ! she is coming back !" cried Madame Cinati. 
 "Julia ! Julia !" she said, in a soft exclamation. She spoke 
 softly, because she did not wish to excite her. 
 
 277
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Julia's eyes opened slowly, but the clear blue of the 
 eye 'was lost in a misty haze which spread before it. 
 
 "Ah ! Madame Ci nati." she said, weakly, with 
 the faintest shadow of a smile, drawing the lips apart, 
 but the muscles quickly relaxed. Instinctively Julia tried 
 to draw together her gown, which was low at the neck 
 and open, as she had unfastened it, when she was strug- 
 gling with her depression of spirits and trying to fall 
 asleep. 
 
 "Julia ! Julia ! what is the matter ? Are you ill ?" 
 
 "I do no t know," she answered plain' 
 
 tively, while her eyes opened and closed wearily. 
 
 "You sent for the doctor, did you not?" anxiously 
 asked Madame Cinati, as she turned toward the concierge. 
 
 "Ah, oui, Madame; he will be here soon. I went to 
 five doctors, and he was the only one I could find. His 
 maid said that he would return soon and that she would 
 tell him to come over at once." 
 
 "Give me the cup," said Madame Cinati to the con- 
 cierge. "Here, Julia, you must not close your eyes and 
 go to sleep again. Come, rouse yourself," she added, in 
 tones, very urgent and quite strongly vocalized. 
 
 Julia could not take the wine; in fact, she was too 
 weak to do anything at all, so the concierge raised her 
 head and held it carefully supported, until Madame Cin- 
 ati gave her several teaspoons of the strong, old wine. 
 Julia offered no resistance, for she had regained con- 
 sciousness enough to know that she must obey Madame 
 Cinati or again drop into unconsciousness. 
 
 The deadly poison from the roses had nearly done 
 the work it never fails to do when sent out by a dia- 
 bolical character, who passes for a student of the nature 
 and resultant of drugs especially of the drugs known 
 as narcotics. 
 
 278
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Had Julia fallen with her head toward the open win- 
 dow she would have breathed more fresh air; as it was, 
 she had fallen with her head away from the window, and, 
 consequently, breathed only the air which had circulated 
 through the room. No doubt she had died from the pois- 
 onous fumes had not the fresh air from the window 
 slightly ajar kept wafting fresh draughts of life-sustain- 
 ing oxygen into the chamber, which otherwise had been 
 the death chamber of her whom the Savior looked upon 
 as a disseminator of the truths of His message to His 
 wayfaring children of the world, wherein had been 
 placed Julia Pembroke on a happy Christmas morning, 
 twenty-two years before. 
 
 Many a noble Christian act had been suddenly shut 
 out from the scenes of life had the cloaked stranger, who 
 placed the flowers within the room, taken greater pains 
 to fasten tightly the knob when closing the casement win- 
 dow. 
 
 The black angel, or angel of darkness, which attended 
 the creature upon this errand into the abode of the pure 
 child of God was defeated in his purpose by the angel 
 of Life, whose mission upon earth was the protection of 
 the child of Light, who began each day of her life with a 
 prayer for protection, and who, each night, placed herself 
 under the protection of the Being in Whom she trusted 
 implicitly. She was not of those who wildly pray for 
 help, but do nothing for themselves oppositely, she first 
 did everything she might do, then trusted fully. 
 
 "How early you have come," said Julia, who now 
 seemed able to speak, but not so fully recovered as to be 
 able to open her eyes. Then murmuring something inau- 
 dible, a smile played about the delicate mouth. Soon the 
 lips half parted, and she went on : "You heard the music?'' 
 
 "Oh ! Holy Virgin !" ejaculated the concierge, clasp- 
 
 279
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 ing and unclasping her hands repeatedly ; "the poor dar- 
 ling is delirious." 
 
 "No I am not delirious," said Julia, brok- 
 enly. "You heard the beauti ful a harp a 
 vi o lin and" 
 
 She turned appealing eyes upon Madame Cinati, who 
 now stood up and said: "Go quick for some other phy- 
 sician. Tell him Madame Cinati will pay him well for 
 coming at once any doctor you may find." 
 
 "They were playing when you came in, for they only 
 stopped a few. minutes ago," said Julia, very slowly. 
 
 "Yes, yes, Madame, I will go at once," replied the 
 concierge ; and she left the room. 
 
 As Madame Cinati stood there, seemingly at a loss 
 to know what more to do before the coming of the doc- 
 tor, she was certainly a beautiful woman, in her magnifi- 
 cent velvet costume, with its long train; the beautiful 
 royal ermine stole; the large black velvet hat, covered 
 with glossy black plumes, arranged as only the artists 
 on Rue de la Paix know how to arrange them ; her long 
 black kid gloves pulled half way to the elbow, which 'she 
 had kept on, only withdrawing the hand enough to allow 
 her using her bare hands upon Julia. She walked across 
 the room twice, then returned to Julia and stood looking 
 down at her, her face truly sad. 
 
 "You came to wish me a Merry Christmas," Julia 
 spoke measuredly and without opening her eyes. "So 
 kind of you." 
 
 "Yes, I did," answered Madame Cinati, putting her 
 ermine stole around Julia's shoulders, for Julia was try- 
 ing to rise, and the air of the room was cool for one who 
 had been among the pillows as had Julia. 
 
 At last, assisted by Madame Cinati, Julia succeeded 
 in getting upon one elbow, and the concierge, having just 
 
 280
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 returned, brought a foot-stool, and together they placed 
 her so that she was in a sitting posture. 
 
 "Oh! my beautiful Mademoiselle," softly whispered 
 the concierge, tearfully, as she arranged a comfort over 
 Julia's lap and around her feet, "I prayed for you all 
 night I could not sleep I was so happy and it was 
 you, Mademoiselle, that made me so happy. Thanks to 
 God you are getting well." 
 
 Julia smiled at the earnest woman, and then looked 
 questioningly at Madame Cinati. A shadow of fright 
 was visible for an instant, then the same questioning ap- 
 peal. Her eyes did not weary and close this time; but, 
 instead, grew strangely large and bright as she lifted 
 them from Madame Cinati to fasten them upon the con- 
 cierge with the same questioning appeal. Then the steady 
 light of reflection shone in them, and she looked at the 
 open window, the medicine chest, the wine. A sense of 
 something vaguely entering her mind seemed seizing 
 upon her. 
 
 She pressed the palms of her two small hands against 
 her temples, then let the left one slip down arid rest 
 against the cheek, while the other fell to her lap, and she 
 slowly looked around in silence, which no one broke until 
 she asked in a weird, scared voice : "Have I been sick ?" 
 
 No one answered, for her lips remained parted and 
 she seemed trying to say more. Madame Cinati was 
 now thoroughly frightened, for she thought that Julia 
 had sustained a stroke of paralysis; but she remained 
 quiet, preferring to hear Julia speak all she could, if this 
 were her true condition. 
 
 After a time, Julia asked, wonderingly and as if she 
 were sadly confused : "Have I been unconscious ?" 
 
 While saying this she looked steadily at the hand" 
 some diva. 
 
 281
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Yes, dear," replied Madame Cinati, "you have been 
 unconscious. Do you remember when you took ill?" she 
 questioned, anxiously. 
 
 Jujia made no answer, but, trembling as with a chill, 
 she huddled back into the cushions, saying : "I am cold 
 so cold." 
 
 "We must take her into the boudoir," said Madame 
 Cinati. 
 
 Soon Julia found herself before the warm fire of the 
 salamcmdre burning brightly in her boudoir, and Madame 
 Cinati had closed the door opening into the bedchamber, 
 which had well-nigh been the death chamber of the 
 young American singer. 
 
 Madame Cinati stood beside the chair, resting .one 
 hand upon its high back and looking away from Julia, 
 who had fastened her eyes upon the prima donna. 
 
 Julia saw that Madame Cinati was lost in thought, 
 so did not at once put the question she would like to ask; 
 but after a little she said: "Have you been here long?" 
 
 "Madame Cinati roused herself, and, drawing up an 
 armchair close to Julia, said: "I am sure, child, that I 
 have no knowledge of what has befallen you. I should 
 like to know, but you are not strong yet, and I do not 
 think that to appease my curiosity you should exert your- 
 self unduly for the present. Enough to know, so far, 
 that you have perfectly regained consciousness, and that 
 you are not seriously ill." 
 
 "Yes, I am weak," sighed Julia, helplessly, "and I am 
 so hungry. 
 
 "Have you eaten nothing to-day ?" 
 
 "No, not since last night, at six o'clock." 
 
 "No. breakfast, child! It is ten o'clock and after. 
 What would you like ?" 
 
 282
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know what I feel all choked; so heavy 
 in my chest here my lungs seem to be too big for the 
 cavity," and she laid her hand upon her chest. 
 
 "Ah!" said Madame Cinati, thoughtfully, and she 
 pressed her shapely lips so tightly that a small blue cir- 
 cle formed in their stead. Just then the concierge opened 
 the door of the bedroom. "Please bring Mademoiselle 
 Pembroke some breakfast, at once," said Madame Cinati. 
 
 "Indeed I will, and I want to do anything that I can 
 do for Mademoiselle," replied the concierge. 
 
 Julia, who was looking at the grateful woman, saw 
 tears gather in her eyes. She smiled and said: "Mar- 
 guerite, I am better now ; I shall soon be entirely well. I 
 shall eat heartily sure." 
 
 Then Madame Cinati gave a detailed order for the 
 breakfast, and the concierge went out. 
 
 "Julia," began Madame Cinati, "have you been ill 
 lately?" 
 
 "On the contrary, I have been unusually well." 
 
 "Then you have eaten something that has poisoned 
 you. Have you dined out?" 
 
 "No, not out ; only at my hotel." 
 
 "They sometimes serve cold duck there, and this often 
 causes death, you know." 
 
 "Yes, I know it does," responded Julia; "but I ate 
 no cold meat at all yesterday, nor last night. I went 
 to Midnight Mass at the Madeleine. I felt well when I 
 retired, and I knew nothing more until I was awakened 
 by the sound of a harp oh ! it was so beautiful !" 
 
 A slight blush bepainted her cheeks, but Madame 
 Cinati was too much interested to notice it. 
 
 "I went to the window ; it was ajar. I was very dizzy 
 and tried to steady myself as best I could, but I fell. Then 
 I seemed sinking into a cloud, airy and light. After 
 that I knew nothing until you waked me." 
 
 283
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Madame Cinati said nothing in reply; evidently 
 she was thinking. She rose and left the boudoir, going 
 into the bedroom. Julia was left alone. She could not 
 think connectedly. Everything presented itself in an odd 
 way. 
 
 Why was Madame Cinati here? Why had Madame 
 Cinati waked her? Had she not been at the Midnight 
 Mass? Had she not heard that beautiful "Mattinata" 
 on the harp and violin? Maybe she had been dreaming? 
 Maybe she was still in the dream ? She put out her hand 
 and touched the salamcmdre. She quickly withdrew her 
 hand, for the stove was hot. No, she was awake, and all 
 that had happened was true, and she was not on the cold 
 stones of the Madeleine, thrilled by the voice of the only 
 man she had ever loved. She blushed at the thought 
 of her weakness, and let her head fall back into the 
 depths of the billows of cushions around her. 
 
 Instinctively she tried to hide the rich blushes which' 
 chased one another all over her snow-white throat and 
 whiter face, up to the border line at the top of the fore- 
 head, where they hid themselves among the mass of 
 spun gold threads. They must have remained there for 
 some time, hoping to scamper back over the ivory face 
 and neck again, for Julia's face was a study in lights 
 and shadows, such as any artist, even in the slightest 
 advancement, would have painted : "A maiden busy with 
 thoughts of her first, true love." And, too, he would have 
 put there lights which flickered with the shadows of pain ; 
 for Julia felt keenly the bitter desolation she must face 
 were she to continue deaf to the entreaties of Hampton 
 Alverstone. 
 
 The door leading into the boudoir opened, and soon 
 the tray of good things was set upon the little table first 
 pushed up to the side of Julia. It was entirely covered 
 with a snowy linen tray-cloth. Upon it were found 
 
 284
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Julia's silver spoons, knives and forks, her own dishes, 
 which were of the most exquisite china fragile and 
 dainty to a fault a silver pot of tea, hot and cold rolls, 
 poached eggs, fresh, sweet butter, delicious grapes of the 
 green variety, and some incredibly thin slices of hot 
 toast the toast in a silver toast dish and covered. 
 
 Julia looked at the tray, her eyes passing from one 
 dish to another, while the concierge took off the cover 
 from the toast. 
 
 "Give me toast first, please ; it looks so good." 
 
 The concierge had brought Julia this kind of toast 
 every morning, and Julia had once told her that she liked 
 her toast very thin. She had not meant so thin as this, 
 but it was always served delicately as if it were for a 
 sick person instead of for a strong American girl, who 
 studied all day and ate a hearty luncheon at twelve 
 o'clock and a heartier dinner at six. 
 
 "You do not look happy, Marguerite," said Julia, 
 addressing the concierge and breaking a slice of toast. 
 
 "No, I am not happy. I am happy that you are well 
 and that I have the money for that Monsieur ; but, Mad- 
 emoiselle, I can not be happy until I know where my 
 darling Pierre is. And, Mademoiselle, Pierre is not all. 
 I must confe&s to you and to the Madame that I went to 
 Mass last night and left mother to guard the door. She 
 told me just now that while I was at Mass a lady came 
 to the lodge door and asked for Miss Pembroke. Mother 
 told her that you were at Mass. Then she asked mother 
 if she might put a present she had for you into your room, 
 and that she would return in the morning to see you. I 
 would have told you last night when you entered if I 
 had knqwn it, but when I returned from Mass the en- 
 trance door was open a little, and mother was asleep, and 
 now she tells me that she did not see the lady go out, 
 and I suppose that the lady opened the door and 
 
 285
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 went out herself, but did not shut the big door behind 
 her." 
 
 All this the concierge said quickly and without paus- 
 ing spoke as one would have done at the confessional. 
 
 "Did she give no name no card no letter?" asked 
 Julia. 
 
 "Yes, there is a card, and she told mother her name 
 was Miss White. I am so sorry that mother let her into 
 your apartment; but mother is from the country, Made- 
 moiselle, and not used to city people. But," the con- 
 cierge went on, regretfully, "I thought she could take 
 my place for the time of the Midnight Mass, for then 
 few go in or out through the doors." 
 
 Julia was astounded at the statements of the con- 
 cierge, and clasped her hands quietly upon her lap, for 
 at this moment the door of the bedroom opened and 
 Madame Cinati came rushing into the room, evidently 
 in a high state of excitement. 
 
 "Julia, do not be alarmed, for the danger is passed; 
 but the odor from these roses is very nauseating, and, 
 no doubt, it was these caused your illness." 
 
 In her hands Madame Cinati held the vase contain- 
 ing the roses, but she turned and went back into the bed- 
 room, put down the vase, came out and shut the bed- 
 room door. 
 
 "Where did you get those roses, Julia ?" 
 
 "The roses I bought yesterday on Place de Wagram 
 were small I know nothing of those in my room." 
 
 "There are no other roses there, nothing but Ameri- 
 can Beauties, Julia," and Madame Cinati stood per- 
 plexed. "Julia, something is wrong with those roses." 
 
 The concierge was a woman of quite keen intelli- 
 gence, and after the first shock of speechless horror 
 which she experienced from the sight of the roses, which 
 
 286
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Julia avowed she had not bought, in fact, had no knowl- 
 edge of, she instantaneously divined all. 
 
 "Oh! Madame! this is all my fault; do forgive me 
 this once, and I'll never again leave my lodge." 
 
 Then she told Madame Cinati all she had told Julia 
 about the midnight visitor to the apartment of Made- 
 moiselle. 
 
 "I never knew a Miss White in America," said Julia, 
 when the concierge had finished. 
 
 "Have you ever known any one by that name?" 
 asked Madame Cinati. 
 
 "No, Madame Cinati; I have never known any per- 
 son, man or woman, by the name of White." 
 
 "Strange; it savors of something irregular, and I 
 think," said Madame Cinati, with darkening counte- 
 nance, "that the police should be notified of the affair, 
 just as it is the mysterious roses the disappearance of 
 your roses the American Beauties found in your room 
 their noxious odor your stupor" 
 
 "Oh ! Madame ! do forgive me ! do not tell the police ! 
 Monsieur the proprietor will send me away. I know it 
 was dreadfully careless ! I beg of you, do not tell the 
 police ! Do not tell any one ! I'll never do it again !" 
 
 Madame Cinati had quietly turned her eyes until they 
 had rested upon the face of the concierge, then she care- 
 fully scrutinized every line and emotion expressed there. 
 
 "This woman is honest," she thought, "and not at all 
 capable of complicity in a crime. It would be quite out 
 of the question to consider her in the light of any sort 
 of an accomplice, and it is quite unnecessary to cause her 
 so much pain by giving publicity to the affair. There 
 would be no use in trying to ferret out the evil-doer with- 
 out police and detectives, and with them on the trail 
 secrecy would be a thing not to be thought of." 
 
 287
 
 AN AMERICAN. SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Oh ! Madame and Mademoiselle," exclaimed the con- 
 cierge, in heartrending tones, "I pray you forgive me!" 
 and, wringing her hands, she wailed softly, but most rue- 
 fully. 
 
 "I believe you are a good woman, and I feel certain 
 you know nothing of the 'Miss White' who brought the 
 roses I feel certain it was these American Beauty roses 
 she had in the pasteboard box. But you have been very 
 indiscreet, to say the least you must never again leave 
 the lodge in care of any one." 
 
 Then tenderly caressing the hand of Julia, which she 
 took between her own, she added : "You know that your 
 carelessness almost caused the death of Miss Pembroke." 
 
 Julia smiled at Madame Cinati and then at the con- 
 cierge, saying: "I shall <soon be well and strong, but I 
 will add an admonition to that of Madame Cintai," and, 
 stretching out her free hand to the concierge, she went 
 on, kindly however: "Never leave your lodge again in 
 charge of any one. Let no one pass in or out without 
 your knowledge." 
 
 The concierge knelt, and, touching Julia's hand rev- 
 erently reverently as if it had been the hand of the head 
 of her church vowed she would never again leave the 
 lodge. 
 
 "Concierge, go and tell the doctor he is not needed 
 now, for the young lady has recovered." 
 
 "I'll run at once." 
 
 "Here," said the prima donna, "before you go put 
 those roses into a box and take them to a chemist Mon- 
 sieur Dekkah. Tell him that Madame Cinati thinks some 
 deleterious substance has gotten into these flowers, and 
 she wants to know what he finds. Don't speak of them 
 being in Miss Pembroke's room." Then turning to Julia, 
 the prima donna continued : "I can not fathom this mys- 
 tery." 
 
 288
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Nor I, either," said Julia : "I did not think it possible 
 that any one in the world would do me harm." 
 
 "Well, my dear," said Madame Cinati, in a sad, seri- 
 ous voice, "it behooves you to be on guard in the future. 
 Some one did the deed, and some one meant you harm. 
 Now, whether that one will attempt the like again, I can 
 not, of course, say; but it is more than likely that the 
 one who had the daring to do this will have the daring to 
 make other attempts. Julia, my dear child, be very cau- 
 tious ; your life here has been so sweet and -so unevent- 
 ful that you could be easily ensnared by persons bent on 
 evil doing." 
 
 A short pause ensued, in which each was busy with 
 her own thoughts, and it is safe to presume that the sub- 
 jects of the reflections were the same. 
 
 "And you are going to America?" said Julia, break- 
 ing the silence. 
 
 "Yes, dear; La Provence leaves port at five" this eve- 
 ning." 
 
 "America ! America ! America !" and Julia clapped her 
 hands gleefully, and gazed over the high silver teapot 
 on the tray beyond the confines of her little boudoir 
 beyond the building outside of Paris beyond its walls 
 far across France over the ocean across the coast 
 line the Piedmont in and out through pass after pass 
 of the Appalachian mountain system, to the beauitful val- 
 ley of the Ohio River into the city of her birth the 
 city of her mother's tomb and of all which to her was 
 most sacred upon earth. 
 
 "You did not continue upon the tour you first 
 planned," said Julia, laying aside her napkin. 
 
 "No, Julia ; I canceled those engagements, for I pre- 
 fer going to America, and the offer came only yesterday. 
 It is a great treat to sing to American audiences. They 
 are both perfectly appreciative and keenly critical." 
 
 289
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "What will you sing in New York?" 
 
 "I am to sing 'Traviata' at the Manhattan on New 
 Year's eve." 
 
 "How I wish I could be there and hear you sing!" 
 
 "No, no, Julia ; when you come to America it must 
 be as the singer of the evening the prima donna. Why, 
 that is eleven !" exclaimed Madame Cinati. Then taking 
 out her beautifully jeweled watch and comparing it with 
 the little clock upon the mantel, she asked: "Is that the 
 correct time?" 
 
 "Yes, it is," said Julia. 
 
 "Well, Julia, I think you are strong enough now to 
 listen to the import of my visit." 
 
 "Yes, I feel perfectly recovered," said Julia ; "please 
 have no hesitancy in speaking to me upon whatever sub- 
 ject you wish to broach." 
 
 "I came in to see you on a little^errand of business. In 
 connection with my operatic work in New York I am to 
 make some concert tours out to cities as far west as 
 Chicago. During my stay in th'at city, with your permis- 
 sion, I shall send my secretary to confer with the lawyers 
 who advertised for Miss Julia Pembroke to claim her for- 
 tune." 
 
 "My dear Madame Cinati, act in any capacity your 
 judgment may suggest." 
 
 "Very well, then," said Madame Cinati, taking out a 
 fountain pen from the depths of a gold-ring hand-bag, 
 studded all over with many opals ; also taking out a long 
 sheet of legal paper bearing the stamp of France, such as 
 that upon which all business transactions, legally recog- 
 nized, must be written. "See, I am a real Portia, Julia." 
 And she laughed that pretty soft ripple known to all her 
 friends as the "laugh of liquid gold." 
 
 "Why !" laughed Julia in concert with Madame Cinati, 
 who truly felt queer in this new capacity of scribe, for 
 
 290
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 it was seldom indeed that she even held in her hand a pen 
 for any purpose whatever; "why, Madame Cinati, what 
 a picture you make !" 
 
 ''Now, Julia, give me the names of any persons in 
 America whom you would like me to see the lawyers 
 and so forth." 
 
 Julia gave her the name of the law firm, whose fam- 
 ilies in Chicago had attended the same church as herself, 
 and with whom she had had a very favorable, though 
 slight, acquaintance. "Bertram Pembroke was my 
 father's name; Jane Hamley was my stepsister; Anna 
 and Edith Pembroke were my half sisters." 
 
 "Your mother's name?" 
 
 "Cordelia Mertonby," Julia answered, gravely, for 
 there came before her a vision of what life had been for 
 her had her own dear mother, Cordelia Mertonby Pem- 
 broke, lived, to watch over and direct the ways and means 
 by which her baby, Julia, was to reach the period which 
 she had now reached. 
 
 Madame Cinati noticed the shade of gravity in the 
 tone of Julia's voice, and quickly looked up, but Julia 
 immediately possessed herself, and as quickly dismissed 
 the emotion. 
 
 "Please, dear, how do you spell Mertonby?" 
 
 M-e-r" 
 
 "Ding! ding! ding! sounded the outside bell 
 sharply. 
 
 Julia made a movement to get up, but Madame Cinati 
 objected : "No, Julia, do not attempt to rise. I will go." 
 
 Julia did not listen, but she could not help hearing the 
 voices, as the two women neared the door of the boudoir, 
 and she at once recognized Lady Trent. 
 
 Only twice or thrice could Julia hear the sweet, clear 
 voice of Madame Cinati, for evidently Lady Trent was 
 asking many questions. 
 
 291
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. ' 
 
 "Oh! my dear Julia!" exclaimed Lady Trent, on en- 
 tering the room; "just as I feared. I thought you must 
 be ill when you were not to be found in your place at 
 Holy Trinity, particularly when I recalled that you had 
 said you never absented yourself from morning service." 
 
 Julia smiled, saying: "I am not ill now, Lady Trent. 
 See" pointing to the breakfast tray "I have eaten quite 
 a breakfast far more than any one could eat were he 
 the slightest bit ill." 
 
 "Madame Cinati tells me it might have proved some- 
 thing serious." 
 
 Then Madame Cinati told all as it had occurred and 
 transpired, even to her own suspicion that the flowers 
 had caused the illness of Julia. 
 
 "Well! well!" mildly exclaimed Lady Trent, in a 
 -somewhat dazed manner, and as if trying to realize the 
 meaning of all Madame Cinati had been telling her. She 
 sat looking quietly at Julia and viewing the situation 
 from all sides. What could it all mean? And who could 
 have done it? How dangerous for a young girl alone in 
 Paris! What if Madame Cinati had not found her! 
 These were the many thoughts passing through Lady 
 Trent's mind as the result of Madame Cinati's informa- 
 tion. 
 
 Gathering a little energy, she asked: 
 
 "Where are the roses?" 
 
 "I gave directions to the concierge to ask a chemist 
 to examine them and to report immediately as to the 
 findings." 
 
 "But how could a stranger gain entrance to your 
 room during your absence?" 
 
 "The old woman let her in," said Madame Cinati 
 quickly, for she wished to prevent Julia's exerting her- 
 self to answer. 
 
 292
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Is that old woman concierge for a building like this?" 
 
 "Ah ! no ! dear Lady Trent ; the concierge, her daugh- 
 ter had gone to Midnight Mass" 
 
 "Ah! I see," she interrupted, "and her old mother 
 let in a stranger. How dangerous I" And Lady Trent 
 shuddered at thought of the danger to which Julia was 
 exposed with a concierge so unreliable as to the respon- 
 sibility of her office as concierge. 
 
 "I regret much," said Madame Cinati, "to change so 
 suddenly from this subject which interests me much, but 
 I leave for New York at twelve." 
 
 "Why ! Madame Cinati. Going to America ?" 
 
 "Yes, Lady Trent; the train leaves at twelve forty- 
 five. I am sorry to go while Julia is ill, but I must, or 
 break my engagement." 
 
 "You birdies you sing you fly and you sing and 
 fly back," playfully remarked Lady Trent. 
 
 "Yes," said Julia ; "she is going to my dear native 
 land." 
 
 "I believe my little Julia is in danger of an attack 
 of nostalgia," said Lady Trent, smiling inquiringly at 
 Julia. 
 
 "Oh! no; I am content to stay in Paris, another year 
 of study ; but, really, I do wish I could go to America." 
 
 "Lady Trent," interrupted Madame Cinati, "may I 
 ask you to pardon Julia and myself if we transact a bit 
 of business just now?" 
 
 "Assuredly, my dear. Really, it is fully time that 
 I go, or I shall be late at luncheon," said Lady Trent, 
 in answer; and, rising quickly, she put out her hand 
 and patted Julia tenderly, adding: "Don't have any cut 
 flowers in your bedroom at any time. They throw off 
 too much poisonous gas." 
 
 "Dear Lady Trent," said the prima donna, coming 
 beside her and laying a dainty hand fondly upon her 
 
 293
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 shoulder, "do be seated and remain. We shall finish in 
 a very short time, for we were about through when you 
 gave us the pleasure of this charming little visit." 
 
 "Ah! how prettily one can speak in French," replied 
 Lady Trent; "I should love to be French when I wish 
 to please." 
 
 "Do stay, Lady Trent," said Julia,"for I shall be 
 alone in a few minutes, and quite likely I shall be a bit 
 lonely. My mind may incline to follow Madame Cinati." 
 
 "Very well, Julia; I'll sit over here, out of all danger 
 of naughtiness." And Lady Trent went to a seat by 
 the window, through the curtains of which she could 
 have quite a vista if she wished to look out; but she 
 was never obliged to recreate in this way. She saw a 
 score of "Faust" for scores of many operas were plen- 
 tiful in that apartment, and she picked it up and opened it. 
 
 Madame Cinati questioned Julia and wrote rapidly. 
 After some time she said : "Now, Julia, let me read them 
 over father, Bertram Pembroke." 
 
 "Yes," answered Julia. 
 
 Though Lady Trent was not curious, .she thought 
 much of Julia; and, being a noblewoman by birth, was 
 pleased with a lineage the longer the better. Pem- 
 broke, that was a very good name very English. 
 
 "Your mother's name?" 
 
 "Mertonby," replied Julia. 
 
 "Beg pardon, my dear; but did I understand you to 
 say your mother's name was Mertonby?" 
 
 "Yes, Lady Trent, that was her name," and Julia 
 experienced no little perturbation of spirits, for Lady 
 Trent's manner had struck Julia a little unfavorably; 
 so she added: "That was my grandfather's name." 
 
 "Mertonby! your grandfather's name!" ejaculated 
 Lady Trent, rising and going toward Julia. "He was an 
 Englishman?" continued Lady Trent, with an inflec- 
 
 294
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 tion which showed that she expected an answer in the 
 affirmative. 
 
 "Yes, he was an Englishman by birth, but after his 
 marriage, in Europe, he made his home in Cincinnati, 
 where he lived during his married life. There he died 
 and there he sleeps, in the cemetery on the banks of the 
 beautiful Ohio River he sleeps between dear grandma 
 and my young mother." 
 
 The tears would trickle, though Julia strove bravely 
 to restrain them. Madame Cinati would leave in a few 
 minutes, and Julia, strong as was her wont, gently, ten- 
 terly, lovingly pushed aside those blessed memories and 
 turned her mind to scenes of a brighter hue. 
 
 "Whom did your grandfather marry? At least, was 
 she English?" 
 
 "No, Lady Trent ; she was not English," replied 
 Julia ; she was Christine Upsalen, of Sweden, and he 
 wa<s an Englishman of nobility." 
 
 Lady Trent leaned forward, and, laying a hand on 
 either of Julia's shoulders, cried out delightedly: "Julia 
 Pembroke, you are the rightful heir you are the Mar- 
 chioness of Essexby, and I am the usurper. Do you 
 understand? My father was the young brother of your 
 grandfather. Your mother was my first cousin. I al- 
 ways felt peculiarly drawn toward you, and I am sure 
 that Reginald felt somewhat as I did, and you and he 
 are second cousins"-- Lady Trent seemed trying to real- 
 ize that the affair was not a passing dream, which would 
 brush away easily in a moment of time. 
 
 Then, gently shaking Julia, she said : "I must try to 
 wake up, for truly I can not realize this happy truth. 
 How surprised they will all be when I introduce you at 
 Court, for you must go home with me at once." 
 
 "Now, my dear friends of one family," said Madame 
 Cinati, overflowing in ripples of dainty laughter, "I must 
 
 295
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 leave this delightful company, which I hope to rejoin 
 soon, for I have one more call to make, and then I go to 
 the station." 
 
 "Dear Madame Cinati, I shall be at the St. Lazare 
 to see your train depart, and to send you off with a sin- 
 cere blessing." And Julia's voice was not minus a suspi- 
 cion of emotion within. 
 
 "Thank you, my pretty one ; I leave you with a much 
 lighter heart than I had thought possible when I saw 
 your feeble condition this morning. Now Lady Trent 
 will take care of her own little lamb one of her own 
 flock." And she stooped and kissed Julia's forehead sev- 
 eral times. Julia returned the tender of affection by 
 taking both of Madame Cinati's hands in hers and kiss- 
 ing them over and over, looking up into the face of the 
 great prima donna with tenderest love beaming from 
 every line of her countenance yes, more than love was 
 written there it partook of the nature of worship, and 
 well it might, for the student life of Julia Pembroke had 
 been made roseate by the noble generosity of the great 
 prima donna Madame Cinati the lyric diva, who had 
 been honored with every decoration bestowed upon a 
 world's songstress. Julia could never forget that hour 
 in Madame Cinati's room at the hotel in Chicago, when 
 she had introduced herself to the Madame, and she 
 would ever remain grateful to the great prima donna. 
 
 "I think, dear," said Madame Cinati, who still stood 
 before Julia, in whose clasp were held the hands of her 
 adored sovereign, "you would better remain quiet; at 
 least not subject yourself to the exertion of going to the 
 train. Lady Trent, your new mama, will tell you what 
 is best for you." 
 
 "Yes, I shall be happy to do so. I shall take espe- 
 cially good care of Julia. She must come and live 
 with us." 
 
 296
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Good-bye, then, Julia." 
 
 "Good-bye," said Julia, and, rising from her chair for 
 the first time that morning, she threw her arms around 
 the singer and said: "Good-bye, my darling friend; God 
 go with you and protect you." 
 
 "Thank you, sweet child. I wish you happiness, 
 health and safety." 
 
 "But I must be at the train. This good-bye can not 
 do," exclaimed Julia, excitedly. 
 
 Madame Cinati went off, saying: "As you will, dear 
 one." 
 
 After Madame Cinati had left, Julia, feeling herself 
 quite recovered, though not perfectly strong, had decided 
 to go to the station to bid her a last adieu. So, not long 
 after, acting on this decision, Lady Trent and Julia left 
 the apartment and went down the winding staircase to- 
 gether. At the vestibule door Julia caught sight of the 
 handsome Mercedes standing in front of the door. She 
 also saw the man in the front seat, and thought nothing 
 more than that he was chauffeur; but when she reached 
 the entrance and the man alighted to open the door of the 
 automobile, she saw it was Lieutenant Trent. He had 
 on an immense coat of fine stuff black and of an emi- 
 tive quality. The cuffs and collar were seal, and the 
 turned-up collar just came above his ears, and partly hid 
 the cheeks and entirely covered the fine combative line 
 of the jaw. 
 
 Julia had not yet seen him in this cloak, but men- 
 tally she pronounced him very handsome. Julia put out 
 her hand, and, with an appreciative smile, greeted him 
 with : "Merry Christmas, Reginald. You look very hand- 
 some in this great coat and cap." 
 
 Trent, though a soldier of great fortitude, stood 
 amazed at the familiarity of the young lady, for whom 
 he had been cherishing a very ardent affection, and who 
 
 297
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 on former occasions had always had such an exquisitely 
 delicate reticence of manner. 
 
 He smiled and held open the door, but could not at 
 once answer this Miss Pembroke, with the free, open 
 manner. He had thought of her in a relation dearer than 
 that of mother, but now he was undecided, for the wife 
 of Lieutenant Trent must be a lady one for whom he 
 would never need to blush. He felt certain she would 
 not please his mother now, but he had noticed an odd 
 half smile flit across the face of his mother when Miss 
 Pembroke had accosted him. 
 
 As they sped off toward the depot, Lady Trent leaned 
 forward and said something to her son. He turned sud- 
 denly and looked at Julia with a strange, eager expres- 
 sion, which an observer would have interpreted as an in- 
 terrogation requiring an answer, in compliance with the 
 wishes of Trent, listening the while to his mother, who 
 still related something of a surprising nature. When 
 the motor car reached Rue d'Amsterdam, the street was 
 congested and looked like the swollen tributary of a 
 great river. Many, many people crowded and jostled 
 one another on the sidewalks. The cobbled street was 
 swarming with vehicles of all descriptions, and so dense 
 was the throng that every now and then the lines of car- 
 riages ascending and descending the narrow way were 
 halted. 
 
 It was then that some of the pedestrians, wishing to, 
 cross to the other side of the street, seeing the halt of 
 carriages, would edge and wind their way through the 
 waiting vehicles, but often, before they could succeed in 
 reaching the opposite curbing, the line of carriages would 
 begin to move, and they would find themselves in very 
 great danger of having their feet run over or of being 
 thrown to the ground. 
 
 ; 298
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Trent began to wish, he had come by the Rue de 
 Londres, but as he could not turn around, there was 
 nothing to do but to wait. 
 
 A wagon that had been standing near the curb, and 
 which belonged to a carter, moved on. Trent, seeing the 
 open space, turned the car to follow the carter, but almost 
 instantly he was forced to back, for the motor car was 
 too large to follow in the wake of the wagon. 
 
 "Stop ! stop the automobile !" It was Julia's voice. 
 
 Trent looked around, and saw that one more revolu- 
 tion of the wheel and he would run over and most 
 likely kill a small, ragged creature, with a very 
 sad face. She was a young girl some fourteen years 
 with an unearthly pallor, and so frightened that she ap- 
 peared unable to move her meager little body, and stood 
 just in the wheel track, panting and with dilated eyes, 
 like a trapped fawn. 
 
 "Step out," said Julia, kindly ; "step out and go back 
 to the sidewalk. We shall not move until you are safe." 
 
 The little girl was French, and, smiling at Julia, who 
 had addressed her in her own pretty language, obeyed. 
 
 "You have excellent presence of mind," said Lady 
 Trent. "Such women become heroines in times of peril, 
 when immediate action is required." 
 
 Trent stopped at the end of the covered way, and, 
 assisting the ladies out of the motor car, the three went 
 toward the gate, after Trent had given an old man a 
 franc if he would guard his automobile. 
 
 The last shrill whistle was sounding". The train 
 jerked moved stopped jerked again the screeching 
 of the whistle growing louder and more vigorous all the 
 while. On all sides was commotion, for it was a critical 
 moment, as well for those a moment too late as for those 
 in charge of the going out of the great liner, those to 
 whom the throng trusted for safety. 
 
 299
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Then the train moved on slowly. And the little party, 
 rushing through the gate, saw the uselessness of further 
 effort to reach the coach, at the window of which the 
 prima donna, Madame Cinati, was seen by her friends* 
 Trent lifted his cap and stood bent forward in an atti- 
 tude of great respect, while Lady Trent and Julia waved 
 good-bye. 
 
 It was a pretty sight, that little group, to Madame 
 Cinati, at the window, from which she continued looking 
 and throwing kisses, until she could see it no more. 
 Julia thought of America as she watched the train dis- 
 appearing, then tried to think how much she loved 
 France, but she was born of blood that had been patriot- 
 ically true to America, and, naturally, she herself was as 
 patriotic. 
 
 In the Route de la Muette, a rider, in the full ca- 
 parison of the fashionable riding world, was walking his 
 horse, a beautiful jet-black steed, with a neck like a ready 
 bow ; a long, silky mane, like thick spun floss, which al- 
 most covered one side of his shapely neck; a tail that 
 formed like a fan, just swept above the line of the small 
 ankle he was a thoroughbred, from the quivering nos- 
 trils and the narrow, pointed ears, to the small, polished 
 hoofs. He was proud of himself, but prouder by far of 
 his rider, for a horse knows whether the one seated in 
 the saddle is an equestrian or not; and, too, he was the 
 petted animal of the rider, and his attachment for his 
 master was a something of human devotion. The rider 
 was Alverstone. 
 
 He did not look happy, arid it seemed probable that 
 he had not enjoyed the beautiful Christmas day, when 
 all the Christian world should be happy; at least, moved 
 by a degree of gratitude for the faith in Christ. Many 
 passers, noticing the extraordinary care with which his 
 
 300
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 horse was groomed, remarked the sad countenance of 
 the rider, and wondered aimlessly about this stranger, 
 until some novelty in the way of another passer-by car- 
 ried the mind off into another channel. The naked aspect 
 of the branches upon the trees gave a strange, weird tone 
 to the aeolian music sung through the Bois on that espe- 
 cial Christmas noontide, and awakened in the mind of a 
 thoughtful person like Alverstone feelings of sadness, 
 as his mind took on an historic coloring; and he saw in 
 fancy the world of those whose lives had been lost in 
 that great woods once infested by bands of robbers, but 
 which was now beautifully arranged for purposes of a 
 world-renowned park, and decorated with touches of the 
 highest specimen of the art of landscape gardening. Out 
 of the soft, rich soil the grass grew, and where the damp 
 moss of a past summer had dried up and grown dull, 
 the dark green trunks of massive forest trees rose gloomy 
 in their sturdy stateliness. 
 
 Alverstone thought, in a sert of melancholy mood, 
 that the dreadful howlings of the wind through the 
 branches of these great monitors of past ages might be 
 the wailings of the spirits, suddenly and prematurely 
 thrust out of the body and left there to wail and so wail 
 on to infinity. 
 
 With his mind darkened by such coloring, a magnifi- 
 cent Mercedes swept across the wide allce in front of 
 him. They did not see him, but he saw them, and they 
 were not going so fast that he could not see that Julia was 
 leaning over the front seat, talking in an eagerly excited 
 manner to the chauffeur, whom Alverstone at once rec- 
 ognized as Trent, though he had never seen him so at- 
 tired. Julia was speaking with a familiarity altogether 
 unbecoming, and only last night, in the Madeleine, she 
 had told him that she would marry him if she ever mar- 
 ried any one, but that she was married to her art. Really, 
 
 301
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 he was not quite sure that he cared to marry a woman 
 who would be so free with men not allied by ties of 
 blood. No, his wife must not be of that class of women. 
 All the women of his large connection in America were 
 women of pure, unsullied characters, and, like Caesar's 
 wife, above suspicion; but a young woman, riding out 
 alone with a man whom she had known but a few days, 
 and chatting most familiarly with him, could not, to his 
 mind, rank sufficiently high to suit his ideals and yet 
 his thead throbbed, for he had really worshiped at the 
 feet of this young American this Julia Pemb b 
 he caught his breath ; it was a great shock to his nice 
 sense of propriety. How could it be, that she, by whom 
 he had sat only last night less than twelve hours ago 
 she for whom he had declared undying love, should now 
 be out with another man, and to all appearances truly 
 enjoying life with him, for she was talking in a most 
 vivacious manner. Jealousy blinded the eyes of his soul 
 his being his all, so that he saw only Julia and Trent. 
 He had not seen the person of Lady Trent, wrapped in 
 her dark furs and sitting close in the corner of the motor 
 car, next to himself. No, he had seen only Trent and 
 Julia and their happiness with each other. She had not 
 even responded to his serenade of last night. That of 
 itself had hurt him, for he saw no reason why .she could 
 not signify her appreciation ; but now he understood all ; 
 she did not wish to do so, certainly not. 
 
 His pulse seemed ceasing to beat, for his heart was 
 pausing in its work life threatened to leave him he 
 gasped: "Ah, Shakespeare knew the heart of woman, 
 when he said : 'Frailty, thy name is woman.' " 
 
 302
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 To Julia Pembroke the day was not what, to her no- 
 tion, was a pretty Christmas day, for in America, in her , 
 home at Cincinnati, she had remembered Christmas days 
 when the sun was shining in resplendent glory from the 
 depths of a blue of deepest azure, not in the least marred 
 by clouds of any size ; and she remembered how crisp the 
 air had been, 'and how she had stepped from a 
 warm, comfortable home, into the beautiful sleigh, drawn 
 by the spirited horses, that dashed along as if glad to 
 hear the ringing of the joyous bells hung in strands 
 around their graceful necks and shapely bodies she had 
 remembered all this, and more, too but she would not 
 linger on the scene now, for it was framed in loving 
 remembrance, and it might make her sad in the retro- 
 spect. Yet, oh ! what a Christmas is had in that far- 
 away land of the North Central States of America! she 
 thought, exclamatorily. 
 
 Julia was grateful for all she chose to call "bless- 
 ings," and especially was she glad upon this day to know 
 that she and Lady Trent were near of kin, and in their 
 fine English hospitality they had come and taken her an 
 exhilarating ride in a perfectly new Mercedes, and that, 
 too, all along the great pleasure drives of the Bois, all 
 over the avenues and the great boulevards of Paris. 
 
 The rain was not then falling, but it threatened, as it 
 does in Paris at this season of the year, when it does 
 not actually pour. It was only two o'clock, and there 
 was time enough yet for a mist a drizzle and then a 
 shower, settling into a steady rain. 
 
 303
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS'. 
 
 In the absence of Madame Cinati her carriage was at 
 the disposal of Julia. And she had telephoned for it to 
 be at her place by two of the afternoon, and now, at the 
 specified time, she had given the order for a drive to 
 Maestro Novara's. The magnificent turn-out of the 
 prima donna was known to all who knew her, for no 
 handsomer pair of Arabian steeds was ever seen pranc- 
 ing along the driveways, daintily pawing the air, as if 
 moving in play instead of in the discharge of a duty, 
 and that often under the cut of the fierce lash. As they 
 dashed gaily around the Place de 1'Etoile, the sun came 
 out and lit up the scene, which was one of great interest 
 to any person of a reflective turn of mind. It seemed 
 that a large part of Paris was out on its holiday jaunt, 
 for the twelve avenues leading up to Napoleon's Tri- 
 umphal Arch were streams of rushing automobiles and 
 carriages, coming up on the Place de 1'Etoile by one av- 
 enue and disappearing by some other. 
 
 And, too, the sidewalks were thronged with pedes- 
 trians many Parisians out for their daily promenade, 
 but many more from the country and its cities and towns, 
 for at this season of the year great crowds from outside 
 of Paris come in to see the great city beautiful, fasci- 
 nating, all-absorbing Paris Paris, which is that place 
 next to his own, if not equal to or before his own place, 
 for every one who goes there. 
 
 Sad to say, however, one cloud of inky blackness 
 marred this otherwise beautiful sight, and no slight effort 
 on the part of every humane person is required to keep 
 his mind in the joyous mood of Merry Christmas; for on 
 all sides is to be seen the entire body of a young or an 
 old beggar, when that beggar is not a fractional human 
 being, with just the infinitesimal portion of a human or- 
 ganization, that makes for the balance of life. Some of 
 these poor bits of humanity perhaps only the trunk, the 
 
 304
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 head and the arm or arms are given locomotion by 
 means of the little express wagon, moved by their skele- 
 ton arms, and whether in summer or in winter, in rain 
 or in shine, one is met by the upturned face of the little 
 sufferer a face in which is registered untold agony, not 
 only from the amputated limbs or other deformities, but 
 from the suffering entailed upon the pain-racked rem- 
 nant of an organism by its efforts at locomotion. That 
 he enjoys the open air and the freedom is belied in the 
 anguish of the little face of unearthly pallor. 
 
 Though the threatened rain had not yet descended, 
 the sun now wore a very heavy gray veil, so that no one 
 could see his form, let alone his smile. The Parisian 
 knows better than to look for his beaming countenance 
 for long at a time during this season of the year, so he is 
 condemned as a capricious fellow. 
 
 Julia felt for the Venetian vase. It was at her side 
 and safe. Next she felt the little box in her muff of 
 royal ermine and it was safe. 
 
 "Ah!" she thought; "it was very charming of Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk to wish to remember me with this beautiful 
 Christmas gift, but her notions of the value of a gift, no 
 doubt, are in keeping with the great wealth with which 
 she has always been surrounded." 
 
 Julia Pembroke had good blood, and could not vio- 
 late her conscience in accepting a gift whose value might 
 be disproportionate with the relation existing between the 
 giver and the object of the kind remembrance. 
 
 "No," she said ; "it is beyond me to accept it." 
 
 Here, jarring over a rough spot in the avenue, the 
 Teddy bear, which she had as a Christmas gift for some 
 one, fell off the seat. She leaned forward and picked it 
 up, putting it in its place on the seat before her. Her 
 face flushed as she leaned forward. "What a strange 
 sensation for me !" she thought, for it had taken the hot 
 
 305
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 flush some time to subside. Then the face was cool 
 beyond its wont. 
 
 "How strange !" again she thought ; "this is, no doubt, 
 the result of my illness last night. Now that is strangest 
 of all Miss White an American a box of roses a 
 card and a woman wearing a large cloak. Well, we may 
 yet know all pertaining to the affair, and I am quite sure 
 that the business manager of Madame Cinati will learn 
 all there is to know of Miss White, her roses and her 
 mission." 
 
 And she looked out between the little silk curtains 
 across the window, for she had partly drawn them to 
 hide, if possible, from the importunities with which the 
 beggars would always follow her, whether she went on 
 foot, in a cab or in the magnificent carriage of Madame 
 Cinati, proving beyond question the certainty with which 
 these beggars can distinguish the sympathetic from the 
 unsympathetic face. 
 
 Just as Julia looked out at the window her eyes fell 
 upon a beautiful jet black charger, ridden by a very 
 stylish young man. Julia knew it was one for whom 
 she should have a happy smile of welcome and good 
 will, and was about to let him know that such was her 
 predominating emotions, when a glint of recognition shot 
 through his eye, but instantly it vanished into a look of 
 vague consciousness, which became a general view of 
 the equipage, and he turned his head slowly and nonchal- 
 antly in the opposite direction. 
 
 Julia was astonished, amazed, dumbfounded by turns. 
 Her eyes dilated and her breath came hard. 
 
 Could it be that he only saw a woman, but did not 
 recognize it was she ! she with whom a few short hours 
 before he had pleaded for the right to call her his bride ! 
 his wife! They had parted the best of friends! He 
 had Oh, pshaw! she would not think of Hampton 
 
 306
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Alverstone in so unkind a manner. He had not known 
 her when he looked at the carriage. She put up her 
 hand and pushed back the delicate silk curtain play- 
 fully, saying lightly: "You little naughtiness, you are 
 to blame for this ; you kept my lover" 
 
 She started and clapped her hand tightly across her 
 mouth, looking around as though she expected to hear 
 some one comment accordingly upon the vacillating 
 character of woman. Then she colored her thought with 
 a shade of blue, and the warm glowing rose of the morn- 
 ing tint gave place to that of sombre blue, seen in the 
 approaching April shower for love, true love, has all 
 the seasonal changes before it arrives at the highest de- 
 velopment of its entire love year. 
 
 But suppose he had known her; that would have 
 been an odd way to meet her, after such an hour as they 
 had spent together in the Madeleine. If he could be gov- 
 erned by moods such as that, she was better off without 
 him, she thought; at least, she was quite sure that she 
 did not care for him. 
 
 She was now nearing the master's, and she must 
 think on pleasanter things. The dear old Signor Novara 
 and his charming wife, Signora Novara, would be glad 
 to see her, and their happy Christmas greeting she heard 
 before she entered. Both would seize her hands one on 
 either side as soon as the old butler should have shown 
 her into the grand salon. They would lead her to a sofa, 
 and the three would sit upon it together while exchang- 
 ing the good wishes the compliments of the season 
 there were no presents exchanged at this time. Julia 
 respected the foreign notion of the maestro and his 
 household, and on New Year's morning she called and 
 left the gold coin in the butler's hand as she passed in 
 through the door, which for the entire year just ended he 
 had very politely opened at her ring and opened again 
 
 307
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 at her departure, and he was always pleased with her 
 little remembrance. 
 
 Then she would exchange the New Year's presents 
 with the Signer and the Signora Novara. 
 
 She stepped from the carriage, and while doing so 
 gave orders to the footman to wait. 
 
 Just then a cheery voice rang out from a little dis- 
 tance : 
 
 "Good afternoon, cousin Julia." 
 
 "Ah ! cousin Reginald," exclaimed Julia. 
 
 "You are not taking a lesson to-day, I hope." 
 
 "Oh, no; just going to pay my respects to Signer and 
 Signora Novara." 
 
 "You are to be with us this evening, for we must 
 join hands around the family board on this first Christ- 
 mas of our newly found relationship." 
 
 "I should like to, cousin Reginald, but I can not." 
 
 "Oh, now you can," and Trent stepped closer to her, 
 saying on : "I must have you there, and I must hear our 
 American nightingale sing sing some little song, if the 
 master will not permit of an aria." 
 
 Julia prettily put up her hand, as if waving him back, 
 at the same time saying, in her happiest manner : "I pray 
 you, cousin Reginald, desist desist." 
 
 Just then the jet-black charger and his rider came 
 into view at the end of the short street, and this time 
 Julia looked into the face of Hampton Alverstone, with 
 the difference that this time she knew that he had both 
 seen and had known it was she who stood facing him; 
 and, too, he must have known that it was Trent with 
 whom she was speaking, for Trent was in the full dress 
 of his rank, and very easily recognizable by a friend, 
 even though only his back might be toward that friend. 
 
 It would have been perfectly proper for Alverstone 
 to have spoken to Julia at the distance of the corner, 
 
 308
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 i 
 
 but he did not. He only looked at her, and as quickly 
 
 away again; but Julia had thought there had been re- 
 proach in the look, and this she had bitterly resented 
 by raising her voice above her usual pitch and saying: 
 "Thank you, thank you, Reginald ; I shall dine with you 
 at six-thirty this evening." 
 
 As she finished speaking a great clatter of horse's 
 hoofs behind Trent made him turn, and he had just time 
 to see Alverstone disappearing, for he had only been 
 crossing the short street ; yet Trent had seen enough to 
 understand why Julia's face had paled, while Julia's 
 eyes had flashed defiantly, and why the horse's hoofs had 
 made so much noise. But he had no time to say any- 
 thing, for Julia had said good-bye, and he had only time 
 to do his duty in reply to her word of parting. 
 
 Trent went off toward the boulevard. He was very 
 proud of his nice cousin very, very proud, and he 
 thought how happy he should be to introduce her to his 
 brother officers and their ladies. True, he had made love 
 to her, but she had not cared for it; in fact, she had 
 treated it as she might the words of a loving apprecia- 
 tion from the lips of one of her own sex. It had ended 
 in the same way in which such girlish avowals always, 
 do end in friendly intercourse in warm appreciation, 
 each of the other, whenever they met; and now that the 
 relationship between himself and Julia was near, he was 
 certain that they would never contract a marriage. 
 
 The Trents were a strong-minded family, and a mar- 
 riage within the bounds of consanguinity would never 
 for a moment be countenanced by the Trents. Nowhere 
 back along the splendid line had there been registered a 
 wreck of humanity nor any approach to it, through the 
 medium of degenerate blood, and Trent told himself that, 
 knowing this, he would not be the wayward one to intro- 
 duce a new graft upon the dear, old family tree. 
 
 309
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 He concluded with the thought that Alverstone was 
 certainly very much in love with his cousin Julia, and 
 he was not sorry, for he really liked the American trav- 
 eler and financier, and he thought the two were pecul- 
 iarly suited by nature, one for the other. Alverstone 
 was the dark type of man, and Julia was the fair type 
 of woman. He smiled at the picture of the handsome 
 pair. 
 
 And this dear friend of his showed by his impatient 
 irritability of this afternoon, that he was not a little, but 
 quite jealous of Reginald Trent, he thought. Then he 
 thought again, perhaps he had had a right before now; 
 but of this he would disabuse the mind of Alverstone at 
 the earliest opportunity. 
 
 Some twenty minutes after Julia and Trent had 
 parted, Julia came out of the Maestro Novara's door, but 
 she was not alone. 
 
 "Ah! is this your carriage?" said Madame Nitolsk, 
 for it was she who accompanied Julia. The footman 
 opened the door immediately on seeing Miss Pembroke. 
 
 "Will you not have a seat with me?" she asked, at 
 the same time putting out her left hand and turning 
 Madame Nitolsk toward the carriage, as if to urge her 
 invitation. 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Pembroke ; it is a delight, I assure 
 you." 
 
 They got in and the carriage went off toward the 
 boulevard, but it did not return to the Arc de Triomphe, 
 for before entering the carriage Julia had given the num- 
 ber of Madame Nitolsk's residence, on the Rue Caumar- 
 tin, and so the horses went in the direction of the Opera. 
 ' "Do tell, Miss Pembroke ; what are you doing with 
 this?" She had picked up the Teddy bear and was look- 
 ing from it to Julia, for she had supposed that she knew 
 
 310
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Julia better than she did ; if Julia were given to indulging 
 in the new fad carrying around artificial animals. Julia 
 smiled and replied with the question : "Is he not pretty ?" 
 
 "Yes, but" 
 
 "No," interrupted Julia; "he is not an interloper in 
 society. He is doing a real work in life. Wait, I'll tell 
 you his mission later." 
 
 "He has a nice glossy coat," said Madame Nitolsk, 
 and, after another moment's examination, she added: 
 "Excuse me, I must laugh, for his nose reminds me of 
 Monsieur Nevere ; but I am in a state of high tension 
 to-day," she continued, "and I laugh easily." 
 
 She affected this frivolous manner only to hide the 
 real condition of herself. Her life had been spent in 
 the management of what she w r as pleased to term "My 
 men," and any man who had found himself in their home 
 the home of Banker Nitolsk either through the influ- 
 ence of the splendid man whose lawful wife she had suc- 
 ceeded in becoming, or for diplomatic reasons, if at all 
 susceptible to her influence, was included under that head. 
 She had tried to play with them as though they had been 
 the titular dignitaries of the chessboard, whenever it 
 suited her purpose to do so, and often she had been led 
 by this purpose. 
 
 Hampton Alverstone had been one whom she had 
 accounted refractory, and she had really given him a 
 warmer regard than she had ever given others and espe- 
 cially had she been given to this since the death of her 
 husband. She loved him, she told herself, and she 
 would allow him to love no other woman not for long, 
 at any rate. This was her disease, and she had the 
 remedy. 
 
 On this particular afternoon, when Madame Nitolsk 
 had seen Julia Pembroke enter the grand salon of Signor 
 Novara, she had tried to make her way to Julia at once.
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 But Julia being acquainted with many people congregated 
 in the salons, she was detained in her intentions. Thus 
 it was that not until Julia Pembroke was again with the 
 maestro and his wife, saying good day, that Madame 
 Nitolsk learned of the illness of Miss Pembroke during 
 the night just passed. The news had gone like chaff 
 before wind among the many groups, but each informed 
 partly grasped or distorted the real truth, until many 
 rumors reached the ear of Madame Nitolsk. She was 
 excited, being very much interested in the young Amer- 
 ican singer, as she pettingly called Julia, and determined 
 to learn the particulars; so when Julia left the salon 
 Madame Nitolsk joined her in the great corridor. During 
 the ride home, in answer to showers of questions put 
 by Madame Nitolsk, Julia had told of her attendance 
 at the Midnight Mass; of the concierge and her grief 
 over the lost francs, and the nonappearance of her son ; 
 of the serenade, the stupor the all. 
 
 "Open window ! How can a singer sleep with an 
 open window in this climate?" 
 
 "I do not," replied Julia; "but I failed to lock the 
 casement window before going to the Madeleine." 
 
 "Ah!" said Madame Nitolsk, with eyeballs dilated, 
 to the verge of bursting. "Ah ! I see ! I see !" 
 
 Julia shuddered, not at the sight Madame Nitolsk 
 presented, in her genuine stare of surprise, but in the 
 thought of the premature death which she had suffered 
 had that window been firmly closed ; for to her there was 
 great joy in living her delight in life was a perpetual 
 praise to her Creator, and death at her age was fraught 
 with only unmixed horror. 
 
 After a moment's silence for, in fancy, she was where 
 she thought she would have been had she died on this 
 Christmas morning "I wonder if roses ever do emit a 
 poisonous substance?" 
 
 312
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Oh ! I think not," said Madame Nitolsk ; "at least, not 
 the cultivated rose." Then her voice became even more 
 serious than it had been, and she asked : "To what phar- 
 macy did Madame Cinati send the roses, may I ask?" 
 
 "I do not know exactly," replied Julia. 
 
 "Do you know in what quarter of Paris ?" 
 
 "No, I do not. I seldom go to drug stores of any 
 description." 
 
 "You did not even hear her mention the name of the 
 chemist who was to examine them ?" 
 
 "No yes, I believe it was something like Aldek the 
 son of the concierge is a clerk for this same chemist, and 
 the concierge took the flowers there, I think, but I am not 
 quite sure." 
 
 "Oh! oh! oh!" ejaculated Madame Nitolsk. "How 
 could any one be so wicked as to send you poisoned 
 flowers !" 
 
 "Well," said Julia, "we do not know that the flowers 
 were poisoned, but Madame Cinati said they had a very 
 noxious odor, and she wished the chemist to examine 
 them. My illness might have been caused by something 
 else than the odor from the flowers I may have eaten 
 something indigestible." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk drew a deep breath one would have 
 pronounced it a breath of relief. Julia remarked the 
 sigh, and, putting her hand on that of Madame Nitolsk, 
 said : "We shall spend the rest of the time in speaking 
 of Christmas joys, and not in the mention of this un- 
 pleasant affair." 
 
 "Oh! but to think of any one so wicked as to harm 
 an innocent, earnest, plodding student, like you. You 
 have some very bitter enemy in the world of your song, 
 no doubt." 
 
 "I know of none," said Julia ; "but let it pass now." 
 
 313
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "But, really, it is all so horrible that I can not speak 
 of anything else," said Madame Nitolsk, and she put 
 up her kerchief as if to shut out the horror of it. 
 
 After a little she leaned back in the deep seat, and 
 the marked brows were very level, and the round places 
 on either side of the pointed chin were rounder than 
 they had been, though under all this exterior of severe 
 decision was an easiness of manner and a calmness of 
 expression. 
 
 "You must not let the perpetrator go unpunished 
 you must not you must find her." 
 
 Had Julia looked, she would have read that a settled 
 determination had fixed itself within the brain of Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk. 
 
 "Fortunate for you," she went on, without giving 
 Julia time to reply, "that you have such a friend as Mad- 
 ame Cinati. But." she added, and her inflection formed 
 a question, "I thought she was in Vienna." 
 
 "She was, but she returned to Paris, to go to Amer- 
 ica to New York." 
 
 "Well," mused Madame Nitolsk, "she is truly a 
 lovely woman. And you use these beautiful horses 
 whenever you choose?" she added, quizzingly. 
 
 "Yes, I can 'phone for the horses whenever I wish 
 to use them, but I often use the ordinary cabs." 
 
 "I pronounce you very fortunate, indeed," said Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk. "Now, in the absence of your very kind 
 friend, Madame Cinati, do allow me to be a little bit 
 your good friend; for, dear Miss Pembroke, I love you, 
 both for your own dear self and for the sake of my 
 child, Adino, who loves you, and calls you 'The Angel.' 
 You will make us so verry happy if you come and dine 
 with us at six this evening. Will you accept this very 
 informal invitation ?"
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "I thank you very much, indeed, and, were I at lib- 
 erty, I should certainly avail myself of the pleasurable 
 hour, but I dine with the Trents this evening." 
 
 Ah! Lieutenant Trent and Hampton Alverstone, by 
 your acquaintance with the woman Madame Nitolsk 
 through your carelessness in not keeping to her place a 
 woman of Madame Nitolsk's character you paved the 
 way for her intimate association with the noble Amer- 
 ican girl, whom it was your duty to shield, instead. 
 
 "Dine at the Trents another evening," said Madame 
 Nitolsk, stiffly. 
 
 "Oh!" quickly replied Julia, for she understood that 
 Madame Nitolsk was hurt, thinking, no doubt, that she 
 had been slighted. "There will be no guest but me." 
 
 "Indeed !" again exclaimed Madame Nitolsk. "When 
 do you go there ? Perhaps you can dine with me first." 
 
 "No, I dine at the Trents, at six-thirty." 
 
 "Well,, then, you could not, of course," replied Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk, slowly, and evidently thinking deep, deep 
 thoughts. 
 
 Julia looked at her and then seemed to draw back, 
 as if retreating within herself. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk saw it all and tried to be pleasant. 
 
 "You may go off to India, as the wife of the gay 
 Lieutenant," she said, laughing lightly. 
 
 Julia retreated farther within herself at the hard rasp 
 in the tone of the widow's voice, but she made no answer 
 to Madame Nitolsk, for she started at the sound of an 
 inner voice, which seemed to say, in tones of her grand- 
 mother in the long ago "Be wise as serpents and harm- 
 less as doves." What was that? And why had this 
 admonition come just then just at this moment! Per- 
 haps, when the mists are rolled away, Julia will know 
 that unseen spirits whispered the warning, and that un- 
 
 315
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 seen spirits whisper a warning at every fatal moment, 
 and that the reason one ever fails of preservation from 
 evil influence is only that one fails to hear at least to 
 obey the tintinnabulations borne in upon one's inner self. 
 And this obedience makes the difference between the 
 one who treads intricate and dangerous passages and that 
 other one, who is foiled, if not lost, at every turn. 
 
 Julia laid her hands, one upon another, upon her 
 muff and was very still for a little time. Madame Nitolsk 
 sat looking at her, but Julia was all unconscious of 
 the attentions the widow was then giving her Madame 
 Nitolsk, who, were she in an Irish setting, might 
 pass for an Irish-American or a child of the Em- 
 erald Isle ; Madame Nitolsk, who, were she in a Span- 
 ish setting, by the brightening of her large, black eyes, 
 could easily pass for a South American, or a daughter 
 of the Spanish Peninsula; Madame Nitolsk, who, in her 
 vivacious moments, by adding a touch of timidity, was 
 a real French beauty; and when the dreamy and lan- 
 guorous effects pervaded not only the eye but the body 
 of Madame Nitolsk, she could easily pass for a woman 
 of the Orient, but in this last setting Julia Pembroke 
 had never seen her if she had, she would not at this 
 moment have been speeding down Boulevard Haussmann 
 in company with this Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 After sitting in silence for a little time, Madame 
 Nitolsk said, coaxingly, as she laid her left hand on top 
 of Julia's, which were clasped upon her muff: "Do send 
 the Trents regrets and dine with me. Their home is 
 gay, bright, happy; and mine is so sad so desolate . 
 so lonely after the destruction of our family fireside. 
 Won't you, dearest Julia, come with me? Adinino, my 
 baby, would be so glad to see you his Christmas dinner 
 would be one he should remember, I know." 
 
 "I am sorry, but I can not," said Julia, sadly. 
 
 316
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Is that your final?" 
 
 "I am sure I have no plausible excuse to offer the 
 Trents." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk was angered in her disappointment, 
 but beyond a slight piquancy of manner, not for an in- 
 stant did she forget herself. 
 
 "I thought it a rule of the master that his pupils 
 should not be in society," Madame Nitolsk said, almost 
 petulantly. 
 
 "I have had little of society," said Julia, "and I should 
 not go to the Trents were it not that I go informally, for 
 we are especially good friends." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk now turned her eyes out upon the 
 street, for she felt that Julia must be higher in the re- 
 gard of Lieutenant Trent than she was ; and, though she 
 cared nothing for him, except for the use she might 
 make of him, she yet jealously guarded the seat of honor 
 in his regard. 
 
 There was a lull in the conversation, and neither 
 moved to break the silence. Suddenly Madame Nitolsk, 
 turning her head away from the window and looking 
 ahead of her at the prancing horses, said : "What a per- 
 fect livery Madame Cinati has ! Does she keep these 
 beautiful horses at the stables ?" 
 
 "Oh, no; she has them kept in her own court-yard. 
 Everything belonging to Madame Cinati lives in and 
 around the court servants -all." 
 
 "Ah ! secure as are mine, then." 
 
 "Yes, just the same, I should judge," replied Julia. 
 
 "Beautiful ! beautiful !" musingly repeated Madame 
 Nitolsk, as she continued to look through the front win- 
 dow at the objects of her interest. "But" she turned and 
 looked at Julia, and her face was very earnest "I be- 
 lieve you do not know that these horses are very deli- 
 cate very sensitive. I am not a horsewoman, but," she 
 
 317
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 went on in an explanatory manner, "I know something 
 of horses, and I would not take these out when the night 
 is bad." 
 
 . "Oh ! I never do take them out when the night is 
 bad, even threatening; but when the weather is like this 
 I have no fear for them." 
 
 Madame Nitolsk looked quickly at Julia, but she of- 
 fered no comment to the words, spoken in decided tones. 
 Then she lowered her gaze, and the dark crescents, which 
 fell on the deep olive of the smooth cheeks, were the 
 only shadows on the perfect face. 
 
 Here Julia brought out the present, hidden away in 
 the folds of tissue paper within her muff, saying: "Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk, you will forgive me, I know. I must ask 
 you to bear with me, for I can not accept so costly a 
 gift as this." She passed the case to Madame Nitolsk, 
 who took it without protest, and then said : 
 
 "I respect your convictions upon such matters; per- 
 haps it was more costly than need be; but I must make 
 you some little gift on this beautiful Christmas day, if 
 only for the gratitude I feel for the delight your charm- 
 ing personality affords me. You do not know the lone- 
 liness of my life, Miss Pembroke. Really, I have al- 
 ways had a sad, isolated life. True, our home in Cal- 
 cutta was always thronged with guests, but I was as 
 much alone in that crowd as if I had been alone in Si- 
 berian wastes." 
 
 She succeeded in communicating the expressed senti- 
 ment as the real condition of Madame Nitolsk, so that, 
 when unclasping a bracelet from around her shapely 
 wrist, she held it out to Julia, saying: "Come! as true 
 friends you will not refuse. It is not much, but it is 
 mine, and when you see it you -can know that it be- 
 longed to a woman who disbelieved in her kind until she 
 met you. Ah! Julia I mean Miss Pembroke you do
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 not know how much you have been to me. Come, you 
 will not refuse this little bracelet." Julia acquiesced, 
 without the slightest protestation, and put out her arm to 
 Madame Nitolsk, who clasped the jeweled band around 
 her wrist, saying: 
 
 "In the devotion of true friendship." 
 
 She uttered the words slowly, and they were very 
 impressive. Though the bracelet consisted of only five 
 very delicate threads of Roman gold, they were held in 
 place by five jeweled bars, each bar filled with tiny dia- 
 monds and rubies the finest stones. Altogether it was a 
 very costly present, and not at all such a one as Julia 
 thought it to be. 
 
 She seemed mystified with the words of Madame 
 Nitolsk, else, she thought, that since she had refused the 
 beautiful necklace for reasons of value, the bracelet must 
 be comparatively inexpensive. 
 
 As the carriage stopped in front of Madame Nitolsk's 
 home, Julia said : 
 
 "This is for Madame Nitolsk," and she handed her 
 the antique Venetian vase ; "and this is for my dear little 
 friend Adino," and she smiled and put the Teddy bear 
 toward Madame Nitolsk. 
 
 She accepted both the presents, and, with as gracious 
 ceremony as if she prized them beyond all other gifts she 
 had ever known, and this she would have done had she 
 been a real woman and capable of understanding the 
 heart value which a Christmas gift should carry. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk took out her kerchief and raised it 
 to her eyes, while she said, in a tremulous voice: "You 
 are a dear, good girl. I love you." 
 
 Then she lifted Julia's hand to her lips and kissed it, 
 and stepped down and away from the carriage, across 
 the sidewalk into her home. 
 
 There, where was elegance most palatial. 
 
 319
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A priest, vested with the long, close-fitting ecclesias- 
 tical habit of his order, sat writing at a clumsy, unpaint- 
 ed wooden table in a small room. The ceiling was high 
 and vaulted. The uncovered gray stone wall and floor 
 were dark with moisture. A small wooden chair, the 
 table at which the priest wrote, two beds, though with- 
 out mattresses, and which, in reality, were simply 
 benches (some old woolen robes serving as pillows and 
 coverings) composed the scanty furnishings of the room. 
 In a niche in the wall hung a crucifix, and beside the 
 crucifix burned two waxen candles. A plain, uncush- 
 ioned priedieu stood before this little oratory. A pot of 
 live coals served to take the chill from the room. Two 
 small windows, so placed as to have given the impression 
 from the outside that they followed a staircase, were 
 above the table. 
 
 Perhaps there had even been a staircase here once 
 upon a time, but more probably their placement agreed 
 with the arrangement of the windows somewhere else 
 in the structure. This humble room was evidently in a 
 tower, for its shape was circular, and it must have been 
 high up, for birds gathered in the deep sills of the small 
 windows, and every now and then took their flight down- 
 ward. The priest, still bent far over the table, steadily 
 continued to write. Six or seven large sheets of writing 
 paper, closely written in a fine French hand, lay on the 
 table near him. Beside the sheets, and partly on one of 
 them, were two unfolded bankbills. The corners of the 
 bills on top were raised apart from the one underneath 
 it, for the top bankbill was a very new one. And, as 
 
 320
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 by this separation the figure one hundred could be seen 
 on the under bill, these two blue squares of linen paper 
 represented the rather large sum of two hundred francs. 
 
 As money has always been and will always be the 
 symbol of wealth,, these two unpretentious pieces of paper 
 money looked odd in their setting of poverty. 
 
 As the priest finished one page, he pushed it aside 
 and started on the next, only pausing to take ink, and 
 even then his head did not raise, and his eyes remained 
 on the writing. His hand moved quickly, and, like the 
 body, showed strength and energy. And since the head 
 was lowered, the face was in such shadow that it could 
 not be seen. 
 
 When he had written about halfway down the page 
 he stopped, hesitated, and began to read over part of 
 wh:,t he had written. Then he slowly crossed out the 
 last line ; but when he came to the end of the line he did 
 not raise the pen, but let it rest on the paper, and for 
 some time sat thus, as if thinking, still bent over the 
 table, the fingers of the other hand firmly holding down 
 the corner of the paper. 
 
 Although the day was dark, the unobstructed light at 
 such a height, falling through the two small windows, 
 fully lit up the bent form and the abundant white hair of 
 the priest, for he was not tonsured. 
 
 After a little he laid down the pen, and, sitting up, 
 turned his head and looked up at the windows. 
 
 The light came full in his face it was Pierre Agneau 
 the clerk at the apothecary shop of Jean Baptist Alia 
 Dekkah. 
 
 It will be remembered that when Alia Dekkah had 
 left the pharmacy, a little after midnight, and had reached 
 the corner of the street where the rather wide street 
 crossed the narrow one, there had been a click up the 
 rather wide street, as of a strong lock slipped into its 
 
 321
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 place. And Alia Dekkah, venal money-dreamer that he 
 was, had not remarked it. 
 
 When Alia Dekkah had given the long pasteboard 
 box to the occupant of the waiting cab and had received 
 from that occupant a sack of gold in return; when he 
 had saluted and the cab door had closed, and the cab 
 had gone speedily up the street, he had not retraced his 
 steps to the pharmacy, as he had said he would, but had 
 gone quickly up the narrow street in the direction of 
 the disappearing cab. 
 
 It will also be remembered that he had not walked 
 long until he came to a lamp-post, whose pedestal was 
 thicker than the pedestals of city lamp-posts usually are. 
 And that this pedestal was not thicker from a heavier 
 cast of iron will be divined from what followed, nor that 
 it was without eyes. It had sight, as many things which 
 we naturally know to be inanimate have its eyes were 
 human eyes. And as there is no sight without a body, 
 so these eyes had a body, and, though it saw everything 
 which had passed, and which was passing or might pass, 
 it was unseen. It had stuck itself to the side of the 
 pedestal, which cast a shadow. 
 
 That this wretched being was more than interested in 
 the man who was walking quickly up the street was very 
 apparent from the stretch of his neck and the turnings 
 of his head. And as every man has a name by which 
 he is called or distinguished from his kind, so did this 
 one, and his name was Pierre the innocent, serious, 
 care-conscienceless Pierre of ten o'clock Christmas eve; 
 the troubled, evil-mocked, memory-taunted, soul-racked 
 Pierre of the midnight of that same night the van- 
 quished man, who slow-murdered for money and sold his 
 all to the Devil, when the ceasing of the striking of a 
 clock closed up the channel of recollection and now, the 
 mistrustful spy, hunched up, distorted and flattened like 
 
 322
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 an ape, to fool this iron post into thinking his cast shade 
 its own reflected shadow. 
 
 It was the clerk in the apothecary shop of Alia 
 Dekkah. It wag Pierre Agneau, son of the concierge of 
 a certain apartment building on the Rue La Perouse. 
 
 When Alia Dekkah had told Pierre that he would 
 come back at once, Pierre had not believed him; so that 
 was why Pierre had followed him. 
 
 Pierre had clung to the iron pedestal, and this 
 crouched figure had never let his eyes wander from the 
 tall, bent shape of the chemist, who had now slackened 
 his pace, and was walking hesitatingly. Twice he halted, 
 but at last went on, more rapidly than at first, as if 
 decided on some premeditated question. 
 
 As he passed a cafe, he paused, turned back a few 
 steps, for he had passed the entrance, and, after looking 
 down the narrow street in the direction he had come, he 
 disappeared through the doorway. 
 
 As the street was deserted, Pierre glided from his 
 hiding place, and cautiously crossed the narrow side- 
 walk to its walled side. He would go into the cafe and 
 demand his money. Alia Dekkah could not refuse, in 
 face of the world there. But he did not go toward the 
 cafe. He only remained motionless as the stone which 
 was behind him ; nor did he look in that direction. There 
 was an odd light about his brow which compared strange- 
 ly with the expression of the jaw. The spot of flesh 
 between the eyebrows was wider than it had been a 
 moment before, and the eyebrows did not press so heav- 
 ily upon the lids, and there was an almost benign light 
 in the eyes ; while the jaw was set and hideously squared 
 and the deep, dangerous lines around the mouth belonged 
 onlj to a convicted man. The mind had turned back; 
 it trusted, but the body was immobile and could not 
 change, and this was why the face had conflicted so. 
 
 323
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "No, I will not follow him. He has only gone in there 
 to refresh himself. He will come out presently and go 
 back to the pharmacy." 
 
 This concluded, he turned and walked quickly back, 
 around the corner, to the small drug shop. 
 
 Again he trusted this man, and at this moment the 
 evil of mistrust had left him, and the body partially re- 
 laxed its tension. He sat down and waited. The same 
 clock which had been the monitor of that gloomy battle- 
 field sounded the hours. One and yet no Alia Dekkah 
 appeared. Two still Pierre waited still throbbed the 
 clock the tireless minutes chasing one another into the 
 infinite space of eternity. Three as the second stroke 
 sounded, the door opened and Alia Dekkah almost slipped 
 through. 
 
 Of course, the question of Pierre's money was opened 
 at once, and Dekkah, wishing to keep the entire sum for 
 himself, had decided to give Pierre not a sou of what 
 he had promised. 
 
 The weekly salary he thought quite enough for a poor 
 clerk, and he had been foolish to be so generous as to 
 promise two hundred francs for a trifling service of 
 dusting twelve roses the work of a few minutes pre- 
 posterous ! 
 
 True, that had been of the nature of a bribe the 
 cheese of a tight trap. The mouse had bitten and had 
 been caught ; the roses had been poisoned ; the thing was 
 passed, and it was hard to pay; besides, Alia Dekkah 
 was not scrupulous about any promissory note or act, 
 unless it redounded to the credit of his coffers, and in 
 that he was not unlike some of his nobler fellows. 
 
 Thus the conversation had become a controversy, 
 which, in turn, led into an incensed slur on character, 
 followed by blows. Though Alia Dekkah was physically 
 better prepared for such assaults than was Pierre, he 
 
 324
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 was not a desperate man his mind was not gloomy 
 the froth of rage was not boiling in his skull. 
 
 Thus it was that after a few blows the chemist fell 
 to the floor, uttering a cry that was indistinguishable, on 
 account of the gurgling sound as of passing air that 
 escaped. 
 
 Pierre's hands were vised around the throat of the 
 fallen man. His nails dug into the flesh. The face of 
 the old chemist became purple and it swelled quickly into 
 a bloated, unsightly thing. 
 
 Then Pierre released his grip and stared at the help- 
 less mass of flesh at his feet. He was not a hardened 
 criminal, though he had poisoned an unknown person 
 and choked a man in the short space of a few hours. 
 
 He revolted at what he had done. Why had he done 
 it? A great fear seized upon him. It shook the very 
 marrow in his bones. What should he do if he should 
 be found here? He would be taken and executed. He 
 rushed to the door, opened it, shut it quickly behind him, 
 and ran at full speed in the direction of the Rivoli. As 
 he crossed, diagonally, the Place de la Concorde, the 
 lights from the many lamps made a large mirror of the 
 smooth, white pavement; for it had been raining, and 
 rain, like imagination, reflects the color and form of what 
 is near it. 
 
 As Pierre ran, his shadow followed him on all sides, 
 and he was so fearful of these moving shadows that he 
 stopped every now and then and stared at the glistening, 
 white asphalt around him. He could not think. He had 
 no brain. A frenzy possessed him. He was actuated by 
 instinct, not by thought; for the slimy waters of crime, 
 had stagnated in his brain and his mind was polluted. 
 
 When he had crossed the immense paved square he 
 dashed headlong up the quay. He did not slacken this 
 
 325
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 onward rush until he 'had passed the bridge, Alexan- 
 der III. 
 
 He stopped suddenly and ran his hands wildly through 
 his hair. He looked around him and the eyes glanced 
 loosely in the head. 
 
 Where was he going? Pierre was going to his moth- 
 er's. But the murderer could not. He had not reflected. 
 He had choked a man, and in his fright he had thought 
 of nothing but safety, for he was yet innocent, and inno- 
 cence seeks refuge only crime concealment. He reeled, 
 staggered backwards and sank limp on the parapet which 
 follows the side of the quay. 
 
 Heavy clouds hung near the earth. They were as 
 gloomily oppressive as they were black, but they shifted 
 every now and then, and the blue of a vaulty heaven, lit 
 by the lights of far-off spheres, shone out, down upon 
 the silent night of the slumbering earth. The moon had 
 made gold the lining of the darkest cloud, and the moon- 
 beams shot from under the thick blackness of this wind- 
 borne vapor and weaved below the mystic measures of 
 their own fantasic dance, on the smooth crest of the deep 
 waters of the Seine. There were eddies, too; vortexes 
 of silver light, which pierced the green water like com- 
 ets that did not disappear, but ( lingered as if to woo 
 the secret bottom of the river's bed, and in their lighted 
 paths, reflect the weed-entangled treasures on the clear 
 water of the river's crest. 
 
 Quiet wrapped this fair corner of the city in the cloak 
 of night the quays were deserted, and so were the light- 
 ed bridges. 
 
 Sometimes a faint tinkle and the weary patter of a 
 horse's feet sounded on the near by Cours-la-Reine. An 
 occasional straggler crossed the great bridge of Alexan- 
 der III and leaned far over the side and looked down 
 into the swift, green current. 
 
 326
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 A policeman moved watchfully on his beat farther 
 down the quay. The clear whistle of a gamin floated 
 up the Seine on the soft night air. 
 
 Morning had already come night had gone. The 
 green-eyed toad of debauchery had squinted his lids over 
 his heavy eyes and hopped off under the dark, dank slab 
 of his retreat. The snake of crime had curled himself 
 up, too, in the wineglass of lecherous pleasures, and the 
 urchin of Paris was returning to hie haunt in the old 
 city which has for its center that sublime monument of 
 man's toil to Faith the ancient Cathedral of Notre 
 Dame. 
 
 The tune still went on he was singing now ; it was 
 a song of the street ; it had the dust of a dancing garden 
 in its rhythm and the scum of human intellect in its 
 amorous equivocated verse. 
 
 The stone buildings the dwelling houses of Paris 
 were still and unlighted, save where the moon burnished 
 the wet surface of the roofs and silhouetting the chimney 
 pots made cylindric mirrors. To the west the minarets of 
 the Trocadero raised in the enchanted grace of the 
 Orient against the blackness of the Parisian sky. The 
 interlaced ironwork of the Tower of Eiffel cut the 
 thickness of the clouds a little to the south. Farther 
 on the wide gilded dome of the Invalides caught the 
 light of the twice-reflected sun and sent it back, thrice love- 
 lier than it had come, while close beside, the towers of 
 Ste. Clotilde lifted nobly to heaven their Gothic spires. 
 
 The cool, searching wind of the morn had begun to 
 blow, and the naked branches of the trees were sighing, 
 for it was Christmas morn it was winter. The gold of 
 the moon had paled to a silver, and the stars were grow- 
 ing small and blinked more than during the first hours of 
 the night. And yet Pierre did not stir. 
 
 327
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 He had experienced one of those shocks from which 
 man rarely recovers. He had believed himself th'e ag- 
 gressed, when suddenly he found himself the aggressor 
 in the eye of the world. 
 
 And where is the man whose convictions can form a 
 moated wall against the slurs of human tongues ? 
 
 He was a felon, but something within him some- 
 thing that speaks to us when we do wrong or when we 
 lean near the abyss of evil God told him he was not. 
 All of a sudden he began to shake convulsively. His 
 body lifted from the parapet while his hands clung to the 
 wall, and then the stupor seized him again and he fell 
 down over the smooth stone of the wall. At last he 
 woke. The argentine reflection of the moon in the deep 
 water below the parapet shone full in his face. His 
 bloodshot eyes opened wide and the colorless lips gaped. 
 He uttered a cry, but no sound came. It was the face 
 of Alia Dekkah. He was laughing at him from the bot- 
 tom of hell. His face was twisted, distorted, shapeless 
 as when Pierre had left him senseless upon the floor of 
 the pharmacy. He drew back from the wall and stared 
 at the dark bank of the opposite side of the river, and 
 for one moment he saw nothing but the stone embank- 
 ment. Gradually everything inanimate took on human 
 shape formed faces many faces thousands of faces. 
 
 Pierre half closed his eyes still they grew they were 
 everywhere they were all about him. It w r as the head 
 of the old chemist he was grinning his yellow teeth 
 ground together. 
 
 The unhappy man glanced about him with one fright- 
 ened look a look which only sees through the twisted 
 windows of the imagination ; and he started to run down 
 the quay. He ran straight ahead ; he did not look round, 
 for terror cramped his reason. When he had passed two 
 bridges and had followed the bend of the river, he came 
 
 328
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 to the bridge of Solferino. He stopped and looked across 
 at the enclosure of the Garden of the Tuileries. The tops 
 of some of the taller trees of the Garden lifted their 
 bared branches above the Terrasse des Feuillants. They 
 were moving. He wondered why he had run so fast, 
 why he had turned back, and he wondered where he was 
 going and where he was. He tried to answer these ques- 
 tions, but his mind was thick. 
 
 He looked at the Tuileries and guessed it the Lux- 
 embourg. He looked at the cobbled way and thought it 
 the Rue de Medicis. He looked across the bridge and 
 was puzzled, why a side street off the Rue de Medicis 
 should have so many lights. 
 
 He leaned over the parapet and was confused, for 
 Paris has only one water and that is the Seine ; and the 
 Rue~de Medicis does not follow this great water way. 
 
 Just then his eyes rested on a lamp-post, which stood 
 directly in front of where he had stopped. Everything 
 came back to him with the rush of a great tidal wave 
 the place where he was and the cause of his torment and 
 flight. 
 
 He was Pierre Agneau. He had killed a man with 
 his sins broadcast to heaven. He was standing on the 
 Quai des Tuileries. It was after midnight. No one was 
 around. 
 
 The Seine was very near him. The lap of the deep 
 green waters far below gurgled in his- ears it sur- 
 rounded him, it numbed his feelings, it lulled his mind, it 
 soothed his troubled sight, it whispered to his tormented 
 soul, "Wanderer, seek my depths ; there alone is rest." 
 
 He would drown himself and the agony of life would 
 be wiped out forever the blank of the unknown en- 
 ticed him. 
 
 If he lived on, if he should hide himself forever from 
 the world, he could not hide himself from Heaven, he 
 
 329
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 could not dig out his conscience. God was within him, 
 but if he died, if he sank into the silent waters of the 
 Seine, then he would be dead and consciousness would 
 have ceased. His eyes would see no more horrid shapes. 
 His body would feel no more uncanny clutches from the 
 grave. His mind would not torment 'him, for it would 
 not think. The fishes would eat the flesh and the wet 
 frame would serve as a finny retreat. The seaweed and 
 rubbish of a river bed would wrap around the bones, 
 but Pierre would feel no pain, no anguish, no remorse, 
 he would be at peace 
 
 Peace ! would there be peace in suicide ? would he 
 vanish into an infinitude of oblivion? Was death as 
 painless, as senseless, as remorseless, as sweet, as pro- 
 found as the sleep of infancy ? 
 
 But would Pierre die with his body? Would what 
 tormented him die? That which makes birth attractive, 
 and death repellant that all that which is the real 
 self the God in man the soul. No, it is immortal. 
 Alas ! where was peace, if life could not give it, if death 
 did not hold it? Did the vast unknown, the hereafter, 
 offer it? Maybe heaven did ; but Paradise was for blessed 
 souls ; his was an accursed one, twice stabbed with the 
 knife of crime. His place was where the blue, phosphoric 
 light lit up the cavern of evil; where caldrons bubbled 
 with the stews of vices, barkened down from earth; a 
 place where witches screeched and demons hooted. 
 
 So real was this conceived inferno, that the miser- 
 able Pierre believed that he saw a cloud of brimstone 
 belch from out a pot, and in the blast of smoke the face 
 of the old chemist appeared and grinned again at him, 
 as it had done in the water of the Seine. 
 
 "Oh ! infamous wretch that I am, to send a soul into 
 such eternal horror !" 
 
 330
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 It was an internal exclamation cried out in the oli- 
 tude of the frenzied man's brain. 
 
 "Unhappy I ; peace is not more mine." 
 
 He had been walking all the time this mental chaos 
 had been going on, and when he at last awoke from the 
 hideous nightmare he was leaning over the wall of the 
 bridge of Solferino, looking, without seeing, into the 
 river below. 
 
 The sound of footsteps made him look back. Some 
 one was coming toward him. It was a policeman he 
 was coming to take him to prison. Without waiting to 
 see if what he had surmised was true, he turned and 
 walked rapidly in the opposite direction. When he had 
 gained the south side of the river and was partly hidden 
 by the parapet of the south embankment, he turned to 
 make sure if the man were still following him. The 
 policeman came on, and evidently he was searching for 
 the man who had been leaning over the Pont de Solferino. 
 
 Pierre could see his face in the bright lights of the 
 bridge and he seemed peering into the darkness of the 
 south side of the river, where Pierre had disappeared. 
 There was only one hope of escape, the narrow winding 
 streets of the quarter he now found himself in. 
 
 He crossed the quay and turned down one of these 
 small streets. He listened for footsteps, but everything 
 was silent. No one followed. He wandered on. He did 
 not know where he was except that he was on the south 
 side of the Seine, past the bridge of Solferino, and that 
 meant that he was near the heart of the Latin Quarter. 
 He was not running now, but he tread uneasily on the 
 pavement and kept close to the wall of the buildings. 
 The streets seemed deserted and now and then, when 
 some one did pass, he would hide himself in a dark angle 
 or in a projected shadow and after he had watched him 
 pass by he would come out and walk on.
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 He was like all evil cunning. 
 
 Why he walked thus, and how long, he never knew. 
 He felt as if he had been buried and had gotten out of 
 the grave. What had happened from twelve until now 
 had been the unfounded fears of a dead man. It was all 
 too hideous to be real, for he had seen inferno, and Alia 
 Dekkah was there. 
 
 As a clock in a tower was striking the hour of four, 
 the wretched man was still walking aimlessly. He had 
 just turned the corner off a dingy street and was follow- 
 ing the line cut by a high wall on the sidewalk. At equal 
 distances the wall extended in stout squares out upon 
 the narrow sidewalk and the shadows cast by the side 
 of these squares into the recesses they thus formed were 
 very dark. All at once the wall ended and a high iron 
 fence loomed up in its stead. Through the grating could 
 be seen a flight of steps, and beyond the steps a stone 
 pile rose up indiscernible in the darkness of the morn. 
 This was the church and the wall, the enclosure of the 
 cloister. If Pierre had looked up he would have seen 
 two shadowy spiral forms painted against the starlit 
 blue of the sky; but the miserable man did not, for the 
 place of heaven is above, and involuntarily, to look up 
 is to be hopeful is to trust; and since that unfathom- 
 able principle lies deep, it is not to be shammed, for trust 
 is the cellar of the soul. 
 
 He had just passed the iron gate, when he heard a 
 voice exclaim : "Pierre, Pierre, is that you ?" 
 
 He started, but he did not stop ; he only quickened his 
 pace. Again came the gentle call. He knew that voice. 
 He stopped, looked round and saw the frocked figure 
 of an old priest coming quickly after him. The light 
 from a street lamp shone full in the old man's face. It 
 was Father Frangois the priest who had taught him 
 his Latin in the monastery, fourteen years before, when 
 
 332
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Pierre was a child of twelve. All the recollections of 
 his childhood returned to him ; for memory is the tide of 
 human life. It covers up the dry sand of the mind; it 
 digs out the coral of past pleasure and polishes off the 
 grime of every day action on the broad water sleeve of 
 the sea nymph Fancy. It gathers up the seaweed of 
 sorrow and floats it on the strong water of its current; 
 it hunts out the lurking cave where lies the ill-committed 
 deeds of human life and sends them out to writhe broad- 
 cast before the minds keen eye, and makes of man a 
 dreamer, if not a coward. 
 
 Pierre told the old priest of his need of two hun- 
 dred francs. He told him how that the chemist had 
 promised him the two hundred francs, if he dusted one 
 dozen roses, and that after he had prepared the roses, 
 Alia Dekkah had refused him the money. Pierre did 
 not tell Father Frangois that he had choked the chemist; 
 he could not bring himself to do so. Father Frangois 
 had told Pierre to come with him, and he would try and 
 help him. Thus the saint and culprit, side by side, had 
 crossed the Seine, and had walked all the way to the little 
 church, which had a circular room in one of its towers 
 the church near the height of the Butte -Montmartre 
 the church where Pierre now sat writing to his mother. 
 While the priest had slept, Pierre on his little bench had 
 remained wide-awake. Through the narrow window he 
 had seen the starlight fade; he had heard a sparrow on 
 the high-up sill welcome the Christmas dawn with his 
 hymeneal chant. He had seen one streak of light enter 
 the darkness of the sky and then another and another; 
 and so amalgamate that an opaque-grayness formed 
 where once the blackness of the night had spread. When 
 the sun had risen Pierre was still sitting on the wooden 
 bench, bent forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his 
 hands clasped fiercely, his bloodshot eyes still staring at 
 
 333
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the high-up window, but the hair had turned snow-white, 
 and there was a bruised line below the nether lip, where 
 the teeth had sunk during the agony of the past night. 
 
 He was a strong man, though yet in the early season 
 of his twenties, and with all this melee of emotions this 
 tempest of struggles against remorse he had not wept 
 no tear had fallen to soothe his troubled mind. 
 
 After a little the priest had risen and the two had 
 gone down to the early services. About noon Pierre 
 returned to the small, circular room. He was alone, for 
 the old priest had gone to ask a bishop a friend of his 
 to lend him the money. Soon the heavy latch lifted and 
 the old priest stood before Pierre with two bankbills on 
 his outstretched palm. 
 
 It was too much that money the price of his soul 
 there it was before him a holy man held it to him 
 was it true? 
 
 This was another dream, and a seraph of heaven 
 stood before him. He grew giddy. Everything wheeled 
 about him. He burst into an uncontrolled laugh the 
 hoarse laugh of a doomed man, who sees the chain of 
 fate unlinked before him. 
 
 "The money the two hun" The word died unfin- 
 ished on his lips. He reeled and fell senseless to the 
 stone floor. When he awoke, the old priest was bending 
 over him and there was a smell of camphor, which min- 
 gled with the mold of the dampness that clung to the 
 walls. Then Pierre had told Father Francois that he 
 wanted to become a priest, and had asked to be permit- 
 ted to put on the vestment now. The old priest had 
 smiled, but had consented ; and Pierre had dressed him- 
 self in a shabby frock, worn by time, eaten by moths 
 and coated with the slime of humidity. 
 
 When Pierre had finished the letter he rose, walked 
 orer to where the humble oratory was and knelt down. 
 
 334
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 It was the first prayer which he had offered since before 
 the clock of the pharmacy had struck the hour of Holy 
 Mass, and as his lips moved great tears gathered in his 
 eyes and streamed over the haggard cheeks and fell fast 
 on the worn vestment. They were only the scalding 
 tears of a penitent, but, like all misery, they stained 
 where they fell. 
 
 After he had risen from the priedieu he stood still 
 and looked up at the dark, dingy, vaulted ceiling. His 
 hands, palm to palm, were turned upward, too. It must 
 have been one of those internal bursts of gratitude which 
 man so often expresses thus; the involuntary proof of 
 an eased soul. 
 
 He had done wrong and he had suffered. He had 
 been confronted by those myriads of specter monsters 
 which always lodge in the mind of human life, when 
 there is a contradiction in the brain, when the soul as 
 plaintiff rebukes the defending mind. It is then that 
 these distorted phantoms come out and murmur unintel- 
 ligible words incomprehensible because they are too 
 past, but none the less tormenting because they are rec- 
 ollections. He had been haunted and laughed at by all 
 these monsters. He had scoffed at them. But it is as 
 impossible for a man to laugh back at the accusation of 
 his own brain as it is for life to mock at the origin of 
 evil. They both redound to the truth, and truth is an 
 unpleasant monopoly when shut up inside the skull of a 
 self -accusing man. 
 
 Now that he was at peace with all these unsightly 
 specters he felt a certain species of quietude, a bonified 
 mysticism, that seemed to make the atmosphere about 
 him clear. The pressure of an indescribable tranquillity, 
 which soothed his conscience. 
 
 He crossed the small room and went to where a 
 worn flat hat hung on a nail. He, evidently, was going 
 
 335
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 out, for he put on the hat and walked toward the door- 
 He opened it and went out, carefully closing the door 
 behind him, and started down the small, winding stair- 
 case. 
 
 As Pierre had never climbed or gone down this stair- 
 way but three times before, he was unacquainted with 
 its odd turnings, its small, narrow stones, which made 
 a descent like that of a ladder. And, too, the stairs were 
 very dark; only a small, unsteady lamp flickered far 
 down, very near the bottom. As Pierre groped his way 
 down the spiral flight of stairs he could easily feel the 
 coated, slimy, humidity which covered all the stones, both 
 wall and steps. 
 
 At last he reached the bottom, and, passing through 
 many small, vaulted rooms, circular in shape, unused and 
 obviously belonging to the tower, he at last came out 
 into the church proper. The church was like many of 
 its kind. It had its nave flanked with double aisles, its 
 chapels, its galleries, its organ, its choir, its columns, 
 and it was not without its stained glass. It had some- 
 thing about it very much like its mother edifice the 
 aged cathedral of Notre Dame but, like all children, it 
 was different ; and, of course, it was not the fault of this 
 church that it was born in a modern century. 
 
 Many tall waxen candles burnt brightly on the High 
 Altar, and in the chapels there were flickering ones. The 
 deep shadows, caught in the far-up dome and in the 
 roofs and covered ambulatories, held their gloomy as- 
 pect, for the sunshine which came through the windows 
 was falsely colored. Its shade was somber, but maybe 
 that was not' so much an interior as an exterior cause, 
 for, as before said, the day was a dark one, and when a 
 sunbeam pierced a cloud it seemed accidental. 
 
 As Pierre reached the middle of one of these double 
 aisles and passed one of the small chapels which adjoined 
 
 336
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 this aisle, he heard a weeping, as the weeping of a child, 
 a very young child. He stopped, and, turning back, 
 saw the form of a young girl stretched over a priedieu 
 in the small chapel he had just passed. She was sob- 
 bing convulsively. She looked about fourteen years of 
 age. Her gay-colored, ragged clothes gave to her lithe, 
 youthful form a fantastic aspect. Short, loose chestnut 
 ringlets covered her head. On the floor near the kneel- 
 ing desk was a basket of faded violets. She was kneel- 
 ing on the priedieu, her face buried in her folded arms, 
 which rested on the back of the desk. She had evidently 
 come to church to pray, and had broken down and wept. 
 
 Pierre walked over and laid his hand on the child's 
 head. The girl looked up with a start when touched, 
 but quieted on seeing the priest and on hearing his sooth- 
 ing words. Despite the tear-stained, ashen color of the 
 girl's face, she was very beautiful. Her type was of the 
 Spanish kind, save for the irregularity of the nose, which 
 was Parisian. The frightened, gazelle eyes were shad- 
 owed by long, black, curving lashes, which swept her 
 cheeks when she looked down. The lips were slightly 
 parted and showed a regular row of sharp, small, white 
 teeth. Sicilian gold earrings peeped from the chestnut 
 ringlets, while around her pretty neck were several 
 strings of pink, glass beads. 
 
 When the girl looked into the face of the young priest 
 Pierre she at once saw his sympathetic disposition, 
 and, weighted to desperation by her grief, and no longer 
 feeling strength to support her burden alone, she told 
 sobbingly, and without being questioned, the story of her 
 sorrow ; how that she had stolen and how it had all come 
 about; how, when she and her master had been selling 
 flowers on the Place de la Concorde, some one had come, 
 and, after buying a bunch of violets, had slipped a letter 
 into the flower basket and had gone away, and that her 
 
 337
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 master had said they must go at once to Monsieur the 
 chief's. 
 
 The girl told how that on the way to the chief's her 
 master had chuckled and had said he wished all the 
 boss' customers were like that "Fifty francs to carry a 
 letter to Monsieur Bordet." Then how, when they were 
 passing La Cigale, he had said that he would go to the 
 performance that night and be a cockney a few days. 
 How, while he was gone, she had read the letter which 
 he had given her to hold until he would come out. 
 
 With religious precision she told the young priest the 
 contents of the letter as she had been able to decipher 
 it through the thin, clouded envelope, for the letter was 
 tightly sealed. And then she went on, in her confession, 
 and told how, when her master had come out of La 
 Cigale, he had gone on toward the Boulevard Barbes, 
 and, when at the corner, he had left her to sell flowers 
 while he went to the chief's house. When he had re- 
 turned he had told her to go at once and steal a pair 
 of gauntlets, which they had seen a tinter, a certain Mad- 
 ame Fabet, lay out in the court of her shop early that 
 morning as they passed by. 
 
 He had said : "Madame Fabet will be at church no 
 one will see you. Monsieur the chief wants them. Now 
 go along and mind what I say. Remember the thongs." 
 
 When she had childishly detailed the cause of her 
 sin, she straightened her small, lithe body almost fiercely 
 and looked at the young priest. "Ah! mon p&re, I did 
 not want to do it, but my master made me. I would have 
 been beaten if I had refused. Oh! to think of stealing 
 from this good, kind woman!" 
 
 For the first time since she had begun to speak tears 
 filled her eyes, but she drove them back and continued: 
 
 "Once she gave me a puit d 'amour, and another time, 
 when I was selling toy rabbits near her shop, an ear of 
 
 338
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 one of the rabbits broke off, and when I cried she bought 
 it, and she's a poor woman, for nobody has much tinting 
 done in this quarter. When I got to the court the gloves 
 were still in their place, drying. I looked around; there 
 was no one the place was deserted the gloves lay very 
 near me. Just as I stretched out my hand toward them 
 a strange voice right beside me said: 'Lizette, Lizette, 
 don't take them.' I jumped back and looked around. I 
 saw no one. I looked at the gloves. Nobody had 
 touched them ; there they were. Then I remembered the 
 cat o' nine tails I felt them I snatched the gloves and 
 ran. Oh ! how wicked I am ! Why had I not been killed 
 this morning under the wheel of that great, big auto on 
 Rue d'Amsterdam !" 
 
 She sobbed so violently that her words were almost 
 incoherent. 
 
 "You, holy father, do not know what a life my people 
 live ; they are all murderers, and now I am a thief. Pray 
 for me, holy father, that I may make the rest of my life 
 as sinless as yours has been." 
 
 An agonized expression darted on the face of Pierre, 
 and he moved uneasily, but the girl did not see his emo- 
 tion, for she had let her head fall on the priedieu and 
 was sobbing wildly. All of a sudden she looked up, and 
 in a hollow voice went on: 
 
 "I have tried to pray just now, but everything laughs 
 at me. Will the Ave Maria never hear me again?" 
 
 Pierre did not hear the girl's plea. A strange light 
 was in his eye and the cold perspiration stood out upon 
 his body "That I may make my life as sinless as 
 yours." Unconsciously this child of the street had struck 
 the keynote of the tragedy of his life. He heard the 
 clock of the pharmacy strike twelve; he saw the form 
 of Alia Dekkah helpless at his feet; he saw the green 
 depths of the Seine, and the horrid heads, bodyless, of 
 
 339
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Alia Dekkah, which floated everywhere about him. The 
 frightful nightmare of inferno was vivid in his memory. 
 Sinless a slow-murderer and a murderer sinless? 
 
 Suddenly he felt the hot blood surge to his head it 
 was the shame of truth. Was it just that he sham the 
 part of sanctity? That he belie the guileless? Was it 
 not infamous that he, felon, should wear the cloak of 
 purity? Was he not committing another offense in the 
 sight of Heaven? Would it not be better to denounce 
 himself? 
 
 His mind cleared, and then he remembered that if 
 he could save this life, prevent this murder of which this 
 child had confessed, he might gain peace balm to his 
 remorse-eaten soul, and maybe Paradise at death. Yes, 
 that would be far better. He soothed the troubled child. 
 It was very easy to do, for children are simple of mind. 
 Let sympathy be shown in the eye and the tongue can 
 be dumb. 
 
 "What is this?" he at last ventured to question, "that 
 is to happen in the Bois a murder ?" 
 
 "Oh! yes," replied the girl; "that's all such a letter 
 can mean to Monsieur the chief," and she again repeated 
 what she had been able to read of the letter: " 'you 
 
 will be a rich man this evening Monsieur must 
 
 have exactly like in the Bois du Bou- 
 logne that this person must be sure dead' " 
 
 She caught her breath "And making me steal a pair 
 of gauntlets what else can it mean? they are going to 
 kill some one." 
 
 Pierre now understood as well as the girl did what 
 was to happen. He asked her where her people lived 
 and she told him. While the priest and the girl talked 
 they were so interested that neither noticed a figure 
 which had stealthily come into the church shortly after 
 the girl had commenced her confession, and which stood 
 
 340
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 near the entrance watching the movements of the girl 
 and the priest. 
 
 A bell, far up in one of the towers of the church, 
 sounded. The girl, frightened, leaped to her feet and 
 grabbed her basket. 
 
 "I must go. They didn't know I came. I'll be beaten 
 if I'm out at this hour." 
 
 "Go, my child you have no sin." And with the bless- 
 ing of Pierre Agneau, the slight, graceful creature quick- 
 ly and noiselessly left the chapel and passed down the 
 half of the long aisle and was soon at the entrance. She 
 did not turn and look back but only for one short mo- 
 ment, when she crossed herself and then went out. 
 
 The figure, which heard this dialogue, glided behind 
 two massive columns as the girl left the chapel; and 
 when the priest looked after the child, as she hesitated 
 upon the threshold of the entrance, the same shadow 
 that had flickered unseen on the stone pavement in front 
 of the small chapel while the girl had told the story of 
 her first theft now shaded the side of Pierre's face. But 
 it was as unremarked as it had been before. Pierre was 
 thinking what he should do how he could save this life. 
 He realized that it must be done quickly. At last he hit 
 upon a conclusion. Pierre did not know this quarter, 
 but he remembered a certain police station which he and 
 the old priest had passed early in the morning. He knelt 
 and offered up a short prayer in the small chapel. 
 
 Pierre had no sooner passed under the door and gone 
 down the street, than the figure standing behind the col- 
 umns followed quickly after him. The person soon came 
 very near Pierre, but did not pass him, only followed 
 cautiously at a near distance. . 
 
 Pierre walked down the street and mailed the letter 
 to his mother. Before he slipped it into the box he kissed 
 the envelope just where it was sealed. A despairing, for- 
 
 341
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 saken look came into his face as the white piece of paper 
 disappeared into the box. Then he went on to the corner, 
 where he turned right and went down a short, blind 
 street. 
 
 Soon the sound of footsteps coming quickly behind 
 him made Pierre halt and look around abruptly ; the fear 
 of the criminal had not left him. But no one was coming 
 after him. He had not gone much farther down the 
 short street when he again turned another corner, and 
 this time to the left. The street was dark and dingy 
 and very narrow. As Pierre hurried along a new thought 
 came to him was he walking into the guillotine? But 
 he dismissed it at once, not wishing to allow himself to 
 be tempted by it. He must save this life at no matter 
 what cost. If he were taken by the police, if he must 
 die, very well. His mother would not have to go to 
 prison now. The money was already on the way. So 
 he walked on quickly, thinking only of gaining the police 
 station. He was not enough of a priest to think of pray- 
 ing at so tense a moment. Just then, as he was passing 
 a dilapidated stucco building, some one caught him, 
 dragged him into a hall, and heavy doors were quickly 
 and noiselessly shut. 
 
 Many hands grasped him, and in the darkness (for 
 the interior of the building had the blackness of the river 
 Styx) it was impossible to discern the number or the 
 character of his assailants. It was well-nigh out of the 
 question to struggle, since his captors had the advantage 
 in number over him ; besides, he had been taken unawares. 
 They dragged him something not difficult to do along 
 a seemingly great hall, and at last down a narrow stairs, 
 and shoved him into a room. The door was slammed 
 and locked. Pierre heard the retreating steps. 
 
 The room was pitch-dark. Pierre felt the floor and 
 then the wall, and he realized that he must be in an un- 
 
 342
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 derground cell. His first thought was that he had been 
 taken by the police. And then he knew that that could 
 not be, for the police would not put him in such a place 
 as this. A light appeared far up through a small grating, 
 and Pierre could see that this underground cell was 
 shaped like an immense vat or well. Evidently, it was 
 from this small barred opening that the air came into this 
 dungeon. While he stood gazing at the spot of artificial 
 light the faces of two men appeared at the grating. They 
 did not stay long, but soon passed on, and the light went 
 with them. 
 
 Nevertheless, it was long enough for Pierre to recog- 
 nize one as a man he had often seen selling flowers on 
 the Concorde'. Then he understood all. This man was 
 the person who had stood in the shadow of a column 
 as he had left the church. Pierre remembered it now. 
 He was the owner of the child, and he had followed her 
 to the church, and had, no doubt, overheard all. 
 
 This man had followed him, and it was his footsteps 
 that he had heard coming behind him on the short, blind 
 street. This man had suspected him of doing just what 
 he had been going to do go to the police. 
 
 Of course, these ruffians were going to kill him. But, 
 then, if they had intended to do that, why not have killed 
 him at once! A knife, a moment, and life would be ex- 
 tinct. It took longer to bring him here than it would 
 to have killed him. No; very likely he was only to be 
 held until the crime was perpetrated and then let out. 
 Oh! how horrible! To allow this deed to be accom- 
 plished was worse than death. Could he not get out 
 somewhere? In desperation he tried different ways, but 
 at last realized how foolish were such attempts. 
 
 The cold perspiration beaded on his forehead and 
 he suffered on, fully understanding his powerless posi- 
 tion. 
 
 343 '
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 With a helpless sigh he sank on his knees. He could 
 not give succor physically, but he could mentally; it was 
 all he could do and so fervent was the prayer, so violent 
 the emotions, that the body writhed and the mind quiv- 
 ered like a man who is in a delirium. 
 
 344
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "No, I shall not want him any more to-day," said 
 Alverstone, as he threw the lines to the groom, dis- 
 mounted and turned to leave the stables. 
 
 "But Monsieur will not walk in his riding clothes?" 
 
 Alverstone took no heed of the man, and the inter- 
 rogating voice went on : 
 
 "Monsieur will have a carriage?" 
 
 "No !" snapped Alverstone, without stopping or even 
 turning his head. His voice was harsh and stern, and 
 his manner so severe, so forbidding, that he was ques- 
 tioned no further, but allowed to pass up the avenue, 
 which he had taken at a headlong rate of speed going, 
 as they said, like one possessed. 
 
 The men were not a little surprised, for they had 
 never known this American to behave in a manner at 
 once so rude and repellant. His custom was to remain 
 in the stables until his horse had been put away. In 
 these stables Alverstone had put his horse when he. first 
 came to Paris, and there his horse stayed, no difference 
 how long he was away on a voyage to other lands. Small 
 wonder, then, his servants were taken unawares at con- 
 duct so unusual. 
 
 The horse, standing so proudly where his rider had 
 dismounted, awaited the customary pats ; instead, he 
 heard only the retreating footsteps of his master. He 
 turned his beautiful head and watched Alverstone go 
 down the incline and out the door. Still seemingly sur- 
 prised, and without moving his head, he pricked forward 
 his ears and listened to the footsteps as they grew fainter 
 
 345
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 up the avenue, for Alverstone had passed out of sight 
 of the horse soon after leaving the stables. 
 
 Evidently, the loving creature felt himself neglected 
 by the man, whom he loved as only a gentle, high-bred 
 horse can love his master. As the footsteps were lost 
 amid the other sounds vibrating the air, the graceful, gen- 
 tle head dropped down, far down. His spirits seemed to 
 be gone and he looked like a sick horse. His feelings were 
 hurt, his pride wounded. He had expected the usual 
 pats, the cheery voice, the words of praise and the lump 
 of white sugar or the rosy apple. He had received none 
 of these proofs of kindness ; instead, he had been treated 
 as if he were a poor, forlorn Paris cab horse, and of that 
 class one of the lowest grade, for even a kind-hearted cab- 
 man is prodigal of his little tokens of appreciation. 
 
 No, noble Beauty went on his way as crushed in 
 spirit as was his master, for his master went on his way, 
 his splendid body racked from the tension of over- 
 wrought nerves. He had thrown the lines to the horse 
 and the power to the nerve force within his being at 
 one and the same time ; and now Alverstone was deposed. 
 He existed not at all, so far as his consciousness of men 
 and things was concerned. 
 
 One thought alone consumed all other thoughts within 
 his brain, and it was quite natural that at such a time 
 he should forget this mute friend his faithful Beauty. 
 
 On Avenue de Friedland he had been rude to Julia. 
 He had let her know that he had seen her and that he 
 had refused to recognize her; but the amazed, injured 
 expression of her face haunted him like the ghost of the 
 happier self, and it seemed he could not rid himself of 
 the picture of the havoc he had caused. 
 
 Though he tried to dislike Julia, he continued to love 
 her with all the ardor of his nature, and he could cause 
 her no pain which would not react upon himself and 
 
 346
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 eat at his vitals. After his ill behavior on Friedland he 
 had relented, and, turning his horse, had followed Julia's 
 carriage, until he saw, as he had suspected, that she was 
 going to the Signer Novara's house. Then he dashed 
 off, taking the Rue de Courcelles, hoping to make the 
 "V" of Courcelles and Murillo, and come out on the Rue 
 Rembrandt before Julia's carriage should pass the Rue 
 Murillo. He had then intended to meet her again, and 
 this time to make full amends for his ill behavior. 
 
 But when he had come in sight of the maestro's door 
 his entire being mellowed by repentance he had 
 found himself confronted by a scene which had maddened 
 him beyond recall. 
 
 No, never again would he speak to her. He had 
 been her true lover, and she knew what that meant, when 
 the lover was an American. And her freedom of manner 
 with Lieutenant Trent would be an exasperating insult 
 to any man who had solemnly vowed his undying love 
 for her. 
 
 She had tried to anger him. The trifler, the despic- 
 able flirt. She had been chatting in utmost familiarity. 
 Why, nothing short of kinship, next to that of brother, 
 could excuse it. No, never, never, would he see this 
 woman again. He was unable to understand how it had 
 been possible that he could have been so blind in his 
 estimation of her virtues. 
 
 Alverstone had tried hard to calm his rage by a hard, 
 dashing ride, but at last, when he could endure the nerv- 
 ous strain no longer, he had gone to the stable and left 
 his horse and started to walk. 
 
 He stumbled on blindly, following any street present- 
 ed, if unconsciously making a choice then taking the one 
 that presented the least obstruction to his onward rush. 
 
 He did not know how long he had walked. One mo- 
 ment the hot blood hissed in his ears, and then clammy 
 
 347
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 chills shivered his frame. He had suffered himself to be 
 blindly driven thus, until he was awakened from his 
 somnambulistic state by the suddenness of something 
 strangely new before him. 
 
 For a moment his mind paused in its action, and he 
 attempted to grasp the situation. What stretched out 
 before him was not a busy boulevard ; it was not a narrow 
 street; it was a necropolis. He walked on, passed under 
 the viaduct and halted at the circle called the Carrefour 
 de la Croix, for it has in its center a cross, and beneath 
 this monument are interred the victims of the coup d'etat 
 of 1852. 
 
 Alverstone was not there to notice monuments. His 
 heart and soul were filled with deeds of the living, and 
 the deeds of those honored by this great monument could 
 have none of his thoughts. His heart was breaking, and 
 in the battle he had been waging he had been con- 
 quered nay, he had been more than conquered, for his 
 heart was crushed, and life to him was without value. 
 
 He turned and looked in the direction northwest from 
 where he stood. 
 
 It was like all cemeteries, dull, cold and deathlike, 
 and it gave added strength to the chill from which he 
 already suffered. 
 
 It was one of the large burial grounds of a great 
 city. It had a name to distinguish it from its sister grave- 
 yards, and it was called Montmartre, because it slept at 
 the bottom of the high hill by that name. 
 
 Alverstone did not stand long, but walked up the 
 main avenue by name, the Avenue de la Croix. Why 
 he turned to the right of the main way is not easily 
 understood, but some force prompted him to turn to the 
 right, and not to the left, at this particular moment. 
 
 Had Alverstone himself been questioned as to why, 
 he had been unable to give the reason, for he had no 
 
 348
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 will in the matter. The way he took mounted the right 
 terrace. While it was not a narrow way, yet it was 
 small, and the avenue he had just left was a main drive- 
 way. 
 
 Alverstone halted and turned around. This move- 
 ment was as involuntary as had been that of the choice 
 of way. He looked up at the dull gray sky, then down 
 at the moist earth, and around upon the many piles of 
 stone fashioned to suit the sentiment of those whose sad 
 privilege it had been to place them there. 
 
 No living thing seemed stirring. He looked down into 
 the valley where he had been, but he made no movement 
 to descend. 
 
 There was a figure bent over and evidently searching 
 along the curbing for something that had been lost. 
 
 At first Alverstone thought it a policeman, but when 
 the figure straightened itself he saw it was enveloped in 
 a long cloak, and not the customary cape of the police 
 of Paris. 
 
 The figure continued to search for some time, but 
 finally, though very reluctantly, as evidenced by the re- 
 peated attempts to recover the lost article, the seeker 
 went slowly away. 
 
 Alverstone recognized the form as that of the cloaked 
 person who, on last evening, had gotten into the cab 
 on the small street adjoining the Boulevard des Capu- 
 cines. 
 
 "Yes," he mused, "the same cloak, the same gliding 
 motion, the same height." Everything, he thought, point- 
 ed to a perfect identity, except that the figure was more 
 slender of form. 
 
 The woman for he pronounced the unknown figure, 
 what from her dress and gait he inferred her to be 
 passed under the viaduct, and the shadow cast by this 
 elevated street obscured her rapidly moving person. Al- 
 
 349
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 verstone looked after the disappearing woman, and the 
 words, "As strong as possible," came to his mind, but as 
 quickly passed out unheeded. 
 
 Then he turned and went on for some time, sur- 
 sounded by the ominous silence which pervaded the 
 place. The healthy elasticity of his extraordinary body 
 reasserted itself, and Alverstone was almost himself 
 again, for, though to a degree disturbed, he had passed 
 out of the dangerous state, in which a less fortified man 
 had done himself violence. 
 
 He now thought unconcernedly of all that so re- 
 cently had threatened to dethrone his reason. 
 
 He turned a sharp corner, and, after walking a few 
 steps, he came face to face with the backs of three high, 
 narrow monuments. They stood close together, side by 
 side, but the roofs of the mausoleums extended beyond 
 the walls of the sepulchres, and, therefore, though no 
 one might pass his arm through the opening, any. one 
 could easily see and recognize a person on the other side 
 from him. 
 
 On suddenly finding this barrier obstructing his way, 
 Alverstone made a movement to go around the three 
 mausoleums, when a low growl attracted his attention. 
 
 He stopped voices were near, and he could also 
 hear the soft, stealthy tread of feet that were guided 
 by brains within that order of men the most debased 
 the sneak. 
 
 It was evident there were several persons together. 
 Though Alverstone had never felt the unknightly posi- 
 tion of concealment, he now thought it the better part 
 of wisdom to stand perfectly still on the spot where he 
 then found himself. The approachers paused on the 
 other side of the mausoleum from Alverstone, and for a 
 little while he feared that a desperate time was at hand, 
 
 350
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 for they seemed on the eve of a great quarrel, and a 
 quarrel among such men means death at the same time. 
 
 He heartily wished himself away from the spot, but 
 retreat or advance without detection was equally impos- 
 sible. He hoped they would pass on without knowledge 
 of his proximity, for he supposed them on their way to 
 the gate. 
 
 "Why in the devil do you carry that lantern? They'll 
 catch us yet." 
 
 "Oh," piped a high, thin voice, in answer to the de- 
 graded questioner, "that's the very reason I carry it. A 
 lantern isn't a suspicious thing; it's an honest tool. The 
 other day when I had this lantern I was taken for a 
 workingman. Now, if that's not honest, what is ?" 
 
 "That may be," replied the first voice ; "but I saw the 
 cop spy you out when you crossed the viaduct." 
 
 There was a restless movement, and many voices 
 spoke at once. There was a harsh voice; a gritting, 
 toothy voice, and the high, thin voice that carried the 
 lantern. They all snarled menacingly as they cried, 
 "Au diable with the discourses ; we want money gold 
 gold. We've come here for money, and we want 
 money." 
 
 "Come" it was the growling voice that answered, 
 with a threat "if you don't stop this noise at once I'll 
 see that you don't howl any more." 
 
 Then followed low, discontented mutterings ; but they 
 were less noisy, and did not venture to speak loud. No 
 doubt, they understood too well the force of the threat. 
 
 "Remember the motto," said the growling voice : 
 " 'Who kills best gets' " 
 
 The voice ceased, and Alverstone heard distinctly 
 the jingling of many gold pieces. 
 
 Alverstone sincerely wished that he had shown him- 
 self at once. He reproached himself for having stood
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 still, for now he could not go. He had heard enough to 
 understand that something nefarious was about to take 
 place, and the group on the other side would, of course, 
 understand that, too, and effectually quell the danger 
 from his secretly gained knowledge. He was afraid to 
 move, for well he knew what would be the result of his 
 discovery. He looked around him and was glad that the 
 day had grown dark rapidly dark, as is often the case 
 at this season of the year in Paris. Had the elements 
 not thus ministered to his safety by throwing around him 
 that heavy, gray cloak of mist and fog, his place of 
 concealment would have been quite insecure ; for, though 
 the mausoleums were high, the spaces between their 
 walls were large enough to make hiding perilous, unless 
 one stood very still, and this was a difficult matter 
 quite a feat. 
 
 "Tell me the place and the man is dead," clamored 
 the voices, in loud hisses hisses of such eagerness that 
 Alverstone was sickened at the sound of them. 
 
 "Is everything ready?" demanded the growling voice. 
 This voice, as was easily understood, came from the di- 
 recting force of the crowd, and it vibrated savagely upon 
 the dusky-gray of the evening. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur Bordet," responded a low, ominously 
 monotonous voice. "The livery is ready, and the car- 
 riage will be at No. 60 at five-forty." 
 
 This was the first time Alverstone had heard this 
 voice. The tones were gloomy and sepulchral, and never 
 to be forgotten, even had they been heard amid less 
 gloomy and less forbidding surroundings. 
 
 "Are these horses spirited?" again put the leader. 
 
 "Spirited as the Devil at midnight," again answered 
 the monotonous voice. 
 
 "Come, Anatole," went on the chief ; "you'll be coach- 
 man." 
 
 352
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Yes, at your bidding, Monsieur le chef," quickly 
 responded the gritting, toothy voice. 
 
 "Now Rene" it was the chief who still spoke "set 
 down that lantern and make your ears pointed. Do you 
 understand?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm ready" it was the thin, piping voice made 
 reply to this. 
 
 "You must be footman." 
 
 Alverstone could see without peering the silhouette 
 of a man. He was short and thin, but with thick-set 
 muscles. His black hair was not abundant, but ill kept, 
 and it clung tightly to the back of the neck. He wore 
 a battered hat and his clothes were too small for his 
 miserable body, horribly misshapen by a degraded and 
 debauched imagination. 
 
 "Do you know the duties of a footman?" next put 
 the leader. 
 
 "Yes, my chief, and all the attendant ceremony; so 
 and so," and while he made the few movements Alver- 
 stone saw his face well, and it was a face such as his 
 criminally distorted body would warrant his having, and 
 under the slightest excitement it would be capable of 
 filling the beholder with terror, for no mercy could be 
 expected from that man, unless it was sought under the 
 protection of his ever-changing emotion. The sallow 
 skin was tightly drawn upon the face, and the sullen 
 set of the jaw showed accomplishment of any deter- 
 mined plan of action, while the small black eyes glit- 
 tered hard with an unearthly expression of hideous por- 
 tentiousness. 
 
 "Well done!" cried the growling voice of the chief, 
 when the acting footman had finished his mimic show. 
 "We shall make a capital job of it. Not a spark of 
 life left. You, Germain, you must go to the Bois and 
 
 353
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 stay where the walnut tree goes out into the road. You 
 remember the place?" 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 "Well, you're to stay there, and when the carriage 
 approaches, if everything goes well, you are to keep per- 
 fectly quiet until it stops; but if," with fierce emphasis 
 on the conjunction, "there is any one around, you are 
 to whistle the E. G. P. whistle." 
 
 "But, my chief," .objected the gritting, toothy voice, 
 "since we finished that Lyonnais there a policeman has 
 been stationed right at the walnut tree." 
 
 "How do you know that?" roughly demanded the 
 chief. 
 
 "Oh, I heard a driver at the Cafe des Cochers say 
 so, and he knows, for he belongs to that quarter." 
 
 A low, hurried conversation followed, and Alverstone 
 thought that, without doubt, the chief was consulting 
 with his lieutenant. After a brief lapse of time the chief 
 spoke : 
 
 "Very well, the place is changed. Your post is at 
 the pool, where the willows go around it. Do you 
 know it?" 
 
 "Yes, my chief." 
 
 This entire band knew all the dark spots of the Bois 
 de Boulogne; in fact, the dark spots of all the outlying 
 posts of operation for their diabolical deeds. 
 
 "Then all's settled," went on the chief. "Germain, 
 you go to the willow pool, at six o'clock to-night. Keep 
 your wits well about you. Wait patiently and listen care- 
 fully. You know the penalty if you are caught napping, 
 either with your eyes open or shut. Open the door, 
 throw the cloak over her head, drag her out. She'll not 
 struggle long, and no noise can come from her. Carry 
 her into the thicket and stab her twice in the heart. 
 Then she'll be dead," and he laughed fiendishly. 
 
 354
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Be careful, Germain; she might get off the cloak, 
 and maybe she's pious, and she'll pray you to save her." 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! not I," laughed Germain. "I killed a child 
 who begged to finish its prayers. Nothing has ever 
 stopped my hand, and nothing can." 
 
 "Yes, there is something can," piped the high, thin 
 voice of Rene, with a wicked, yet morbid-toned mirth. 
 "Death will." 
 
 "Ugh!" retorted the angry Germain; "really, here's 
 an ass with a goose-beak, that calls himself an owl, and 
 carries about a lantern by day to play out his wisdom." 
 
 "Here, stop your wrangling and let me finish. After 
 she's killed you must get back to the stables as soon as 
 possible, but don't drive so fast that the police will notice 
 you. They're always suspicious of fast-going vehicles. 
 Come back by the Exterior Boulevards." Then, turning 
 to another, he said: "Now, Anatole, you're the coach- 
 man. See that you hold a firm hand. You leave No. 60 
 at five-forty. It will take fifteen minutes to get to the 
 place." 
 
 Then the chief lowered his voice to a mere whisper, 
 and, though Alverstone listened hard, he heard nothing. 
 
 A west wind was carrying the heavy clouds close to 
 the earth, and the increased gloom was oppressive. 
 
 It was horrible to think that he could not move. If 
 he could but go at once and notify the police of the in- 
 tention of these desperadoes before they would leave the 
 cemetery! But, though he might descend the terrace in 
 the mist and deepening shadows, he yet knew that the 
 slightest movement upon his part would be attended with 
 more or less disturbance of the air, something easily 
 perceptible to such persons. And, too, his feet coming 
 in contact with the gravel walk would more than likely 
 make a noise. And, were he put to the chase, he knew 
 full well that this gang could soon distance him, in a 
 
 355
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS, 
 
 few bounds, for he was no athlete ; in fact, he had never 
 in his life given any attention to the simplest stretches 
 of a run. 
 
 Alverstone forgot his despair, his jealousy, his all, 
 in thinking of the gruesomeness of what he heard. Thus 
 it ever is, and if each individual, when borne down, driv- 
 en almost distracted by the poignancy of some canker- 
 eating sorrow, would only cast about to find some one less 
 fortunate than himself to whom he could lend a helping 
 hand, he would, ere long, find himself divested of what 
 had been a self-destroying force, and in its stead find a 
 healthy elasticity of mind. 
 
 The planning of the murder of an innocent victim 
 a woman in a cemetery over the graves of the dead 
 it was appalling. 
 
 Alverstone could not help think that these breathing 
 organizations behind the tombs from him had been noble 
 men had they been fortunate enough to have been pro- 
 tected in childhood as he had been. Had not these men 
 been born infants! Had not the awful chimeras of 
 racked imagination confronted them ! Had not the re- 
 morse of memory haunted them ! Had they no souls ! 
 No doubt, there had been stations of repentance, past 
 which the headlong rushing train had hurled them 
 through space, in which space on every side had seethed 
 and had surged every form of soul-annihilation. 
 
 He felt strong pity for the men of whose moral 
 undoing he knew nothing ; but he felt great apprehension 
 for that portion of humanity upon which they vented 
 their hatred, born of careless neglect of moral man for 
 his unfortunate brother. 
 
 Alverstone was roused from his reverie by a streak 
 of light, which came through the openings. 
 
 It had grown dark, and if it had not been for the 
 light, Alverstone would not have seen anything of the 
 
 356
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 ruffians on the other side. He ventured to look through, 
 and what he saw would never suffer effacement. 
 
 There was a bier-like sepulchre, and the recumbent 
 figure of a woman, long, long since departed, was chiseled 
 upon its top. Like many near by tombs, it was gray, and in 
 many places the smooth surface of the stone was nicked, 
 and when these hollows were on the level surface they 
 were full of water, and in the day time the birds came 
 and drank from them, and sometimes lizkrds would run 
 through them, but more often these latter came at night. 
 The figure was shrouded and the features were very 
 delicate, and the hands, which met as in prayer, were 
 long and slender. At the base of the sepulchre and ex- 
 tending out from it was a stone pavement. This paved 
 square was not very large, for the adjacent tombs stood 
 very near this particular tomb. These adjacent monu- 
 ments were all mausoleums, with the exception of one, 
 and they fitted one against the other, as they often do 
 in large burial grounds. The exception was a small 
 tombstone, which faced on another way; but it was so 
 close to the long, bier-like tomb that any one, sacri- 
 legious, could sit on it and rest his arms on the praying 
 figure of the other. 
 
 Thus when Alverstone, peering through the long, nar- 
 row opening, brought the five men within the circle of 
 his vision, the shrouded, recumbent figure formed the 
 center around which they grouped. 
 
 By their attitudes, by their speech and by their mo- 
 tions, the tomb was made to look more like a common 
 billiard table in a low wine shop than like the stone 
 image of a dead body a holy grave in sacred grounds. 
 
 Each face reflected the viciousness of the soul within, 
 and each glowered and leered upon the other like a sav- 
 agely carnivorous beast. Only the leader was exempt 
 
 357
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 from a share in the portentiousness the overshadowing 
 ill pent up in the fiery glare of their demonian eyeballs. 
 
 The flash light was in the hand of the one who seemed 
 to be a grade higher socially than the others, yet trem- 
 blingly inferior to the chief. 
 
 Seated upon the small tombstone, and with both arms 
 resting upon the bier, sat the chief head of the band 
 doling out gold pieces the price these lost men were 
 paid for their strength in hardness of nature natures 
 that knew no emotion but that of rebellion toward their 
 Maker. 
 
 He was a tall, well-built man, and worthy the name 
 of chief. His manners would have marked him a man 
 of wealth, though not of elegance. The clothes were not 
 of that fine stuff which distinguishes the raiment of the 
 elegant man of leisure; but they were the novel, chic 
 stuff of the smart, uncouth set. He wore a small derby 
 that was well pushed back, and the height of the fore- 
 head made the face attractive. The eyebrows were too 
 highly arched, and the eyes, at this moment, had a fixed 
 glitter, which, by a law-abiding citizen, had been ac- 
 counted, at the least, annoying. The turn of the mouth 
 was hidden by a heavy mustache ; in all, he looked like a 
 very wanton Parisian cockney, who had sprung from 
 the gutters of a great city. 
 
 The remaining four were horrible to look at in their 
 rags and tatters. They all wore clothes which evidently 
 had belonged to some one else, and two wore the small 
 cap with the peak, while the rest wore the battered felt 
 hat. Their unhealthy faces would have been pallid if the 
 dirt of many years had not begrimed the skin to such 
 an extent as to make it impossible to tell with exactness 
 to what nationality they belonged. 
 
 The face of the lamp-holder was very oval, and the 
 
 358
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 sharp, sensitive features marked a man whose unsatiated 
 tastes had made him a moody, dangerous fellow. 
 
 The one next to him, and on his right, consequently 
 giving Alverstone an excellent view of his face, went by 
 the name of Germain, and was a very different-looking 
 fellow. 
 
 The chief, who had chosen him as the murderer, un- 
 derstood his unsurpassed fitness for any deed requiring 
 brawn, for he was a brawny man, and his arms were 
 large and sinewy, and his face was that of a beast of 
 wildest ferocity. 
 
 Alverstone thought that no mercy would ever be 
 shown the victim within the power of this man. He 
 remembered when a child to have spent many hours 
 wrapped in deep contemplation of the young girl implor- 
 ing Gibbs the pirate as shown in "Our First Century," 
 to spare her life; and the face of the terrible tyrant had 
 so impressed him that through all his travels he had 
 recognized the slightest approach to a Gibbs type; for 
 Alverstone's was a very magnetically poised organization, 
 and this Germain was a deeper study in the science of 
 crime than Alverstone had found in the face of Gibbs. 
 
 As for the remaining two, they were on the side of 
 the bier next to Alverstone, and, of course, their backs 
 and an occasional side view of their faces as they turned 
 their heads was all that Alverstone could see of them. 
 
 The chief looked around at the four eager faces, but 
 kept taking out the glittering gold pieces from a yellow 
 leathern pouch twenty-franc pieces and placed them 
 equally in four small columns upon the bier-like tomb in 
 front of him. 
 
 Every once in a while a piece would slip and roll. 
 Then one of the eager four would lay his hand over it 
 and try to slip it away, making an altogether pitiful spec- 
 tacle in his greed to possess the yellow metal, for which 
 
 359
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 man has delved and woman has toiled. And the miser 
 and criminal have sold their all, beginning with the greed 
 of gain in childhood, for which they have sold their 
 little friendships of congenial companions, on down the 
 journey till they have found themselves the genteel miser, 
 who gets all his gain for as little expenditure upon his part 
 as possible; or the miser who, hoarding his gains, parts 
 not with even a sufficiency to cleanse his physical being. 
 
 The chief saw everything and knew what to expect 
 from the wolvish fiends with whom he dealt. He would 
 growl an awful oath and add some figurative threat, 
 which Alverstone could not understand, but which the 
 ruffians did, and he would glower upon the culprit with 
 an eye so ominous that the miserable greed gave place 
 to maniacal fear, and the piece would be returned. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, it is nevertheless true that 
 the more desperate the character, the more terror-inspir- 
 ing is the fear which seizes when a masterful hand 
 waves the wand of authority. 
 
 When the columns of gold were heightened irregu- 
 larly, the one who thought the small one came to him 
 would cry out, and then when the chief would silence 
 him he would pull out his dagger and examine the blade 
 and look more vicious than ever, thus hoping that his 
 master might think him a dastardly enough villain, to be 
 well paid. 
 
 The scene was truly hideous, for the white monu- 
 ments of the dead silent monitors of life's fleeting day 
 contrasted ghastly with the hideousness of the gruesome 
 feast spread by the Apache band gathered about the tomb, 
 upon which, by strange coincidence, lay the marble figure 
 of a maiden, at least a woman of short advance into the 
 realm of womanhood. 
 
 The one who held the flash light now moved it so that 
 the direct ray fell through the space between the two 
 
 360
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 tombs near Alverstone. He drew back into the gloom, 
 into closer contact with the mausoleums. He looked 
 down to be sure that his feet were not in the beam of 
 light. 
 
 But what was that! The flash of something met his 
 eye. Lying very near his feet was something that 
 sparkled and twinkled like a trinket. 
 
 With a childlike boldness of forgetfulness, he stooped 
 and picked it up. Though this he accomplished without 
 the slightest noise, and nothing but the motion of the air 
 displaced by his movements in the act of picking it up, 
 yet that was sufficient for the ears of the brigands, trained 
 as they were to listen for retributory steps. 
 
 "Some one's about," cried the monotonous voice, in 
 hoarse, whispered words, and instantaneous with the 
 whispered warning the light went out and a deadly silence 
 prevailed. Alverstone held his breath and his heart 
 thumped loudly. 
 
 After a stillness of some seconds' duration, enough 
 to insure to the practiced ear that nothing of mortal man 
 was stirring, the chief spoke reassuringly: 
 
 "No, it's a lizard running through the grass over 
 there." The light came on again, and it was turned in 
 the direction of the sound. 
 
 There, hopping across the gravel-walk, was a harm- 
 less toad ; but the toad had interfered with the diabolical 
 scheming of hellish fiends ; so one swore at the small rep- 
 tile and kicked it, for even the foul toad fares not well 
 in the haunts of the wicked. What, then, must be the 
 fate of man in those same haunts ! 
 
 "There, take that," said the big one ? who went by the 
 name of Germain, lifting his foot high and digging his 
 heel down upon the harmless toad, out on his evening 
 mission of gathering food at least to eat or to be eaten. 
 This poor toad, however, had entered the haunts of lost 
 
 361
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 man than which there is none lower, unless it be the 
 haunts of lost woman; and so ended his days of pere- 
 grinations in the Cemetery of Montmartre. No doubt, 
 had he been a vain toad he had been proud of his coun- 
 try the wealthy necropolis, within whose mausoleums 
 lay many of the world's illustrious dead it is a great 
 city in that great city -the capital of the world Paris. 
 
 Alverstone now had orbicular proof that within this 
 Germain was an energy which would, with delight, crush 
 out the life of some unsuspecting human being within a 
 short time some little over an hour. 
 
 "Where's my money?" 
 
 "I gave it to you," responded the chief. 
 
 "No, you didn't," cried the irate voice of the one 
 called Anatole. 
 
 "Yes, I did," snapped back the chief. "If you want 
 any more money you must get it from the Madame." 
 
 "Where is she? She'll die or give me more," and his 
 words came hard through tightly shut teeth. 
 
 "I don't know. She went off in that direction," 
 answered the chief, indicating by a motion the direction 
 of the tombs behind which Alverstone was concealed. 
 
 "Oh, you can't get her," laughed Rene. "She left 
 before we came up. Wasn't that she with the long black 
 cloak?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Germain, through a grin. He was 
 obviously very much pleased with what he had got, and 
 stood patting a wallet between his two palms and glaring 
 around at the others like an incarnate fiend. 
 
 "I'll go after her," cried Anatole. "See if she'll get 
 off so easy. I'll get her jewels if she hasn't any money 
 on her," and he sprang forward, following the impulse 
 to exact more. 
 
 "You're a fool, Anatole," sneered Germain. "Don't 
 you know the gates are shut?" 
 
 362
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Alverstone almost gasped. A new sensation seized 
 upon him. Was it true? Were the gates closed? Was 
 he locked in here? This Apache most likely knew what 
 he said, and Alverstone knew enough of Parisian burial 
 grounds to know that when the gates were closed there 
 was no way of exit, for there was a high wall running 
 around the entire necropolis. 
 
 But how could these ruffians get out? They were 
 to commit their murder in a short time, and it was to be 
 in the Bois, so, of course, they must have some secret 
 mode of exit. Perhaps some movable stone in the high 
 wall might bear a secret mark to them, by means of the 
 removal of which stone they would be afforded a large 
 enough opening to pass their lithe bodies through; and 
 most likely in their case they would not replace the stone, 
 and Alverstone could go out after them. He shrank 
 from the thought of following such men, and for the 
 purpose of availing himself of their mode of clandestine 
 departure from this city of the dead. 
 
 No superstitious fear of spending a night in a ceme- 
 tery confronted him, but he was disturbed to the point 
 of distraction as to his duty regarding the safety of the 
 life he knew was in jeopardy, and which he knew would 
 be cut short unless he was able to inform the police. 
 
 "It's getting along, isn't it?" said one brigand. 
 
 "Just five now," answered another. 
 
 "Have to be hurrying up," piped Rene, "if we're to 
 be there in half an hour." 
 
 Germain glowered at Rene, and called him, among 
 a lot of oaths and low slang, a "milksop," or its equiva- 
 lent, because Rene had a natural pallor. 
 
 "Rene, sharpen your knife well, for if she struggles 
 much, you know you're to help me to the finish." Ger- 
 main instinctively knew that Rene suffered whenever al- 
 lusion to the moment of action was made, so Germain 
 
 36.1
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 purposely thrust it at him whenever he saw the occa- 
 sional cringe in the face of Rene. The unearthly pallor 
 of Rene's face had given way to a deadly greenish cast, 
 and Alverstone was glad to see that beneath this fright- 
 ful exterior was a spark of manhood which revolted at 
 the bloody jest. 
 
 At mention of the knife a spark of light had appeared 
 amid the darkness of that benighted soul, and Alver- 
 stone's sympathy went out to the man, who sat among 
 that band, a butt of their jibes, because of the atom of 
 true manhood within his sin-tossed soul, which would not 
 down at his bidding, but which would rise to torment 
 him in his lost surroundings and plead with him for a 
 return to fields of light, where he was sure to have a 
 conscience, void of offense where he might be useful to 
 his fellow -men where he might be happy in a well-spent 
 life, even though that life were a ceaseless struggle for 
 existence. 
 
 "Is this all you're going to get?" asked Anatole, with 
 a sneer, of their chief. 
 
 "No, this is only half of our pay. She wouldn't give 
 me more until it's done." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Rene, while a sad light crossed 
 his otherwise placid face. "You'll never see her again. 
 She knows her work will be done, and she'll be far from 
 here when it's over." 
 
 "What's that ?" cried the chief. "Not get more? In- 
 deed I will, or else I'll steal her child and hold him for 
 ransom." 
 
 "Oh, so you know her?" mocked Anatole, question- 
 ing^- 
 
 "Of course, I know her," retorted the angered voice 
 of the chief, for he felt insulted at the remarks of his 
 underlings. "Do you think I undertake deeds of this 
 order for unknown persons?" 
 
 364
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "Oh ! I didn't know," replied Anatole, scoffingly. 
 
 "Who is she?" asked the light-holder, turning the 
 light towards himself and looking, with perfect quietude 
 and without flinching a muscle, into the glaring light, as 
 one would have done when clipping a burnt wick with 
 a snuffer. 
 
 At mention by the chief of the name required in the 
 answer to the question put, Alverstone for an instant 
 felt himself petrified, but he failed not himself in this 
 stern hour. He leaned against the tomb at his back 
 and mentally repeated the name pronounced by the chief, 
 to see if possible whether he had heard aright. 
 
 Alverstone clinched his hands so tightly that the small 
 stones in the trinket he had picked up dug into the flesh 
 of his right palm, and involuntarily, more than volun- 
 tarily, he opened his hand. The light diffused from the 
 small beam that came through the narrow space, fell full 
 on his open hand, and the small trinket glittered. 
 
 What was it? Alverstone started and would have 
 ejaculated had he not been a more cautious man. As it 
 was, he almost forgot the gang on the other side of the. 
 mausoleums. And he stared long and hard at the daz- 
 zling jewel in his open palm. 
 
 The blood surged to his head. His brain swam. It 
 was his very own ! the one his mother had given him - 
 just one year before she died. And who had taken it 
 from him? who? Had he forgotten the night when the 
 moon dipped her silver bow near the horizon? where 
 there were many planets and more stars? in a far-off 
 country, where the gentle wind was warm and languor- 
 ous? And who had walked beside him on that night? 
 Who had taken from him the dearest treasure he pos- 
 sessed this locket the gift of his sainted mother? 
 Never again would any one touch this keepsake, and he 
 pressed it to his lips in a passionate sadness, for he had 
 
 365
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 loved his mother devotedly, and her memory was a 
 sacred thing. 
 
 Alverstone had hoped that the Apache leader had 
 mistaken the name of the person, but now it was quite 
 clear to his mind. This woman, whom he had seen 
 as he had come up the terrace, must, then, have just left 
 the Apache chief. 
 
 She had dropped the charm here, but she had thought 
 it was in the valley. The cloaked figure which had been 
 searching for something in the grass when he had mount- 
 ed the terrace; and the person who, last night near mid- 
 night on a little street that adjoins the Boulevard des 
 Capucines had parted company from another, who had 
 said, "As strong as possible;" and the instigator of this 
 murder, in a short time to be perpetrated at the willow 
 pool in the lonely Bois; and the one who had taken this 
 locket from him, were all the same the same woman. 
 His mouth fell open his senses were staggered he 
 could not pronounce the name. He knew it was an ab- 
 surd thought, but it was so. Did he not know that walk ? 
 How blind he had been! But, then, who would have 
 suspected? Many thoughts rushed confusedly through 
 his brain. 
 
 The small light went out, and Alverstone heard the 
 chief ask: 
 
 "Have you got your spurs fast?" Then there was a 
 click as something metal fell on the stone pavement, and 
 Alverstone heard the harsh voice of Anatole cry out: 
 "Turn on the light. I've lost my spur." 
 
 Then the light came on, and he could see them again. 
 They were sitting on the sepulchre, tightening very sharp 
 spurs ; but he could not see the light-holder and the chief. 
 Rene was declaring that his spurs would take him over 
 a wall many times higher than the cemetery wall. By 
 this Alverstone knew they meant to scale the wall of the 
 
 366
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 cemetery, and for that purpose were now making sure 
 of their spurs. He felt a weakness seize him. He knew 
 he could never climb this wall; he was powerless. 
 
 "Where are you going to climb?" asked the light- 
 holder. 
 
 'Tast the Tunnel," answered the chief. 
 
 "Then, we can go down right here," remarked Ger- 
 main. 
 
 "Yes, just around that stone, back of us," piped the 
 thin voice of Rene, and he indicated the mausoleum 
 against which Alverstone had flattened himself as best 
 he could. "There is a path there that goes down to the 
 Avenue." 
 
 Alverstone hoped that they would put out their light 
 before they came around the mausoleum; but with all 
 this fear he was glad that he had heard how to gain the 
 entrance, for the mention of the avenue that could be 
 gained by going down a path had recalled to Alver- 
 stone's mind the broad, white way which he had followed 
 for some time after entering the cemetery. Though he 
 could not remember the way he had turned, he knew 
 that he was on a hill, and that there was a valley some- 
 where below. He had learned from these Apaches that 
 in the valley was an avenue, and if this avenue proved 
 to be the wide way he had followed on first entering, 
 he remembered that the viaduct stretched almost directly 
 over one end of this particular avenue. There were 
 lights on this viaduct, and by means of these he could 
 easily gain the entrance, which was very near the end 
 of this elevated road. 
 
 Alverstone had been in this cemetery but once be- 
 fore in his life, and that had been when his tutor had 
 taken him to visit the burial grounds of Paris. He was 
 then but a child of fourteen, and so now knew little of the 
 plan of the cemetery. He determined to try, if possible, 
 
 367
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 in this Stygian darkness, to see what direction down the 
 terrace these ruffians might take. 
 
 The mausoleums around him were so close to one 
 another that to grope one's way around them and to keep 
 one's bearings would be well-nigh impossible. Besides, 
 this terraced slope was long and descended gently to the 
 foot of the hill. And Alverstone felt sure that if these 
 Apaches had not mentioned this path he could not hope 
 to pick his way down the terrace. 
 
 The light went out, and Alverstone could feel the pres- 
 sure of air as the gang rounded the side of the mausoleum. 
 
 They passed him, and, though they disappeared like 
 mice when the cat appears quickly and softly the high 
 tension to which he had been strung made him keenly 
 alive to the sound of the soft pressure of the tender 
 grass beneath their departing footfalls. 
 
 Alvenstone strained hard, but the figures were soon 
 undiscernible in the blackness of the night. Then he 
 heard the high, piping voice of Rene say: 
 
 "The path is rather twisted. If you don't follow me 
 you'll get lost." 
 
 Alverstone felt the cold perspiration stand out and 
 bead all over him. If these other four could not have 
 found their way down the terrace without Rene as guide, 
 what could he do? His last hope was crushed. He was 
 doomed to be locked up in the cemetery all night, and 
 this gruesome deed would be accomplished. 
 
 Soon he was left alone in the silence and in the dark- 
 ness. The white sepulchres rose from the black ground 
 like monitors, for amid those of many colors some were 
 white and were discernible in the thickest darkness. The 
 earth was covered as with a pall, and the heavy clouds 
 pressed their inky blackness above and around him. The 
 wind had started to blow cold, but Alverstone stood 
 where he was, motionless. 
 
 368
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Julia Pembroke was standing before her wardrobe, in 
 the boudoir, buttoning a pair of long white gloves which 
 she had just drawn on. 
 
 Her position was such that her reflected self showed in 
 profile in the full-length mirror, which covered the en- 
 tire front of the wardrobe. She was dressed and ready 
 for the drive to the Trent's place, though as yet it was 
 some time before the hour which she had named as the 
 time for the arrival of Madame Cinati's carriage, in 
 which she would go there. The dinner was not until six, 
 and she had yet quite a while to wait. Julia had started 
 to dress quite early, for since she had met Alverstone 
 on the Boulevard Haussmann the time had seemed long 
 and wearisome, and she had really suffered, even though 
 she had tried to interest herslf in learning roles ; so she 
 had gladly turned to the distraction of dressing much 
 earlier than would have been necessary. 
 
 She was pleased to contemplate the result of this 
 dressing, but before the joy of that admiration which 
 to a beautiful woman is a world of joy, there crept in 
 that peculiar annoyance, which had its birth in the un- 
 kind notice given her by that one whom, of all her ac- 
 quaintances, she held in highest regard Hampton Al- 
 verstone. 
 
 What could it mean ! The room in which she stood 
 was well lighted, and on some of the chairs were many 
 articles of clothing, while upon her dressing table were 
 to be seen many accessories of a lady's toilet, and all in 
 great disorder a veritable pandemonium prevailing 
 throughout the atmosphere of the room. 
 
 369
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 To one acquainted with the personal habits of Julia 
 Pembroke it was certain that she could not be in her 
 usual state of mind, for, unlike most persons of strictly 
 cleanly habits, she added to the virtue of cleanliness that 
 other its twin-sister orderliness. 
 
 Her face just now was sad. She fastened the last 
 button of the glove which she was buttoning, then pushed 
 back from her left wrist, well up on her arm toward the 
 elbow, the bracelet given her by Madame Nitolsk. She 
 stretched out her arm and looked at the bracelet from 
 this side and from that, and smiled an evident satisfac- 
 tion at its beauty and its fitness upon her shapely arm. 
 The sparkling of the precious stones pleased her and she 
 stood quite still for some moments, and watched the play 
 of the fascinating colors reflected from them. 
 
 Her face almost lost its sadness, and there was some- 
 thing infantile in the smile which played around her 
 mouth. Then her face grew thoughtful, for she was 
 thinking of the difference between the gift of a child 
 of the opulent but dreamy East and that of a child of 
 the affluent but sturdily stern West. 
 
 Then she thought of the generosity of spirit which 
 had prompted Madame Nitolsk to make the present. 
 "So kind, so very kind in a woman of her place in the 
 world to think of me in this fashion, and she seems gen- 
 uine in her profession of good feeling for me. I am cer- 
 tainly fortunate in meeting her at least, no harm can 
 ever come from our acquaintanceship." 
 
 Then she looked again at the Julia in the mirror, 
 while inclining her head and waist toward the glass. 
 There was reflected a front view of her face, a three- 
 quarter view of her shoulders and chest and an almost 
 side view of her waist and skirt. In this pose she saw 
 the beautifully developed and powerful chest to the neat 
 waist and incredibly small hips, giving the impression of 
 
 370
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 great strength of vocal powers, when the contatrice 
 should draw upon this reserve power for the execution 
 of some musical phrase. 
 
 The beautifully poised neck, such as any queen might 
 look upon with envy, was seen and noted by Julia, and 
 the gently sloping shoulders, in perfect symmetry with 
 the other portions of the body, made her alive to the 
 keen delight a woman always feels in a survey of that 
 form, which, of all created things, was pronounced the 
 fairest. She saw and knew that she Julia Pembroke 
 had developed into a form of striking beauty. She could 
 not help seeing this if she looked at all into her mirror. 
 
 Madame Nitolsk was not so beautiful as was she. 
 That was certainly true. Alverstone might be pleased 
 with Madame Nitolsk's style of beauty, but she felt quite 
 sure he must be far more pleased with the beauty of her 
 own type. However, it was certain, she thought, that a 
 beautiful or even a handsome widow is at all times a 
 dangerous rival for place of precedence in man's esteem ; 
 yet the beautiful woman in her mirror smiled at her most 
 reassuringly, and Julia was pacified, was at rest, on that 
 point. 
 
 Overwhelmingly powerful, though, came the fierce 
 thought, why had he so cruelly shot that relentless glance 
 at her, just in front of Maestro Novara's, and a few mo- 
 ments before had shown her intentional slight and this, 
 too, when she was just then in a state of bliss at remem- 
 brance of the hour, on Christmas eve she was sure he 
 must have seen her begin to smile her happy greeting 
 "Oh ! pshaw !" she exclaimed ; "I will not think of Hamp- 
 ton Alverstone in this fashion he is far from me. In 
 the Madeleine I settled that forever, and to linger in the 
 mystifying atmosphere is simply to confess a desire to 
 throw aside the career for which I have an unextinguish> 
 able longing. 
 
 371
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "No," and she stamped her foot as she crossed the 
 room and looked out through the lace curtains covering 
 the window. She turned her head and looked at her 
 little clock on the mantel. It was not time yet for the 
 carriage. She turned and walked back toward the mir- 
 ror, in which she had an entire view of herself, and 
 when some few feet from it she paused and started to 
 sing the last portion of the Queen Margherita's aria in 
 the second act of "Gli Ugonotti," at the same time 
 taking up her fan, which hung from a long, delicate gold 
 chain around her neck, and fanning with the fascinating 
 movement which she had seen the incomparable Madame 
 Sembrich give to her fan during her singing of this same 
 aria. 
 
 After the first few notes were thrown out upon the 
 stillness of her quiet surroundings, her mood changed. 
 All thoughts of Hampton Alverstone were gone, and she 
 was singing as only a great lyric soprano can sing when 
 under the inspiration of truth to the moving spirit of her 
 being the spirit of song. 
 
 On and on she sang, every note sending delight to her 
 soul, for, despite the indisposition from the last night's 
 experience, she was singing gloriously, and she knew it, 
 and she was pleased accordingly pleased with herself 
 pleased with her song. On she sped, happy as the feath- 
 ered songstress in its most thrilling roundelay, and until 
 yes, until she reached a note much sweeter, much more 
 touching than those gone before. 
 
 She had listened to each note, as was her habit, but 
 what was this which startled her into self-consciousness ! 
 
 The fan ceased its motion, and as she slowly, softly 
 descended the irregular grupettos the melody began to 
 speak. She repeated the lingering words "D'amore fa- 
 vella" of the tender phrase, then on again, though now 
 rather hesitatingly La terra, il cielo d'amore favell' " 
 
 372
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 That the meaning of the words now struck at her 
 heart's burden was plainly visible upon her face, but she 
 sang on. Though faintly and half absently, she took the 
 notes "favella d' amore" taking the high B and slowly 
 descending the octave on the last word. The fan 
 dropped from the limp fingers and the hand fell heavily 
 against her side. 
 
 The voice ceased its singing, the head drooped and 
 she looked thoughtfully at the floor. While Julia had 
 been singing a persistent diminuendo had stolen the notes 
 to a forte pianissimo, until as "d'amore" was taken on 
 the high B and slowly followed down the scale, the notes 
 became only a sighing tune, whispered in sound, and then 
 all music ceased, and that same half word and the word, 
 "d'amore," were repeated slowly and far down in a clear 
 voice. 
 
 A deep, subtle tone of an understanding heart vi- 
 brated each syllable. She listened, for the heart was 
 speaking and the mind was grasping what the heart said. 
 
 Julia knew the Italian like her mother tongue, and, 
 
 "Ah questa voce sola 
 
 Natura par piti bella, 
 La terra, I'aura, il del 
 D'amor favella" 
 
 did not mean a graceful connection of pretty sounding 
 words, but the expression of the sentiment contained in 
 the words, 
 
 "To this voice alone 
 
 Does all nature respond, 
 Heaven, ether and earth, 
 All speak of love." 
 
 373
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 The meaning of this song came in upon her most 
 forcibly its import, how it swayed the world, and this 
 same sentiment was that which she had struggled to 
 crush under foot and was still struggling to keep down. 
 
 The hot blood mounted to her face and she grew 
 sick, but she did not change her gaze from the floor; 
 she was thinking that she was certainly weak to allow 
 this aria so to disturb her, when she had joyously begun 
 the singing of it singing, that she might fill her mind 
 with her beloved work and forget the man around whom 
 now centered the sentiments 6f this beautiful aria of 
 Meyerbeer's "Ugonotti"; but she soon smiled faintly, 
 for, thought she, "Am I not true to nature, in that I 
 love this man ?" She answered the interrogation herself : 
 "Yes, I am true to the nature of my being, and I am 
 sure quite sure that it will be very difficult for me to 
 cast away the love Hampton Alverstone has inspired 
 within me. Yes, I love Hampton Alverstone, but my 
 song shall more than compensate for this loss." 
 
 A soft tapping at the door roused her from her rev- 
 erie, which she finished with the thought: "I now crush 
 out that love completely; at least, I shall crush out the 
 disposition to entertain thoughts of him whom I love 
 so passionately. But after one has loved as I love Hamp- 
 ton Alverstone, to forget is not so easy; in fact, I can 
 not forget him." 
 
 "Ah ! Mademoiselle, the carriage is at the door," said 
 the concierge, at whose knock Julia had opened the door. 
 "Can I help you in any way?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Julia; "come in and put on my cloak, 
 please." And, going into the boudoir, she signified the 
 cloak she meant to wear with, "There, on that chair yon- 
 der, is my cloak, Marguerite." 
 
 The concierge bent to take up the lovely creation, 
 but instead lifted her hands in a surprised exclamation, 
 
 374
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 as she said : "How beautiful ! how beautiful !" This cloak 
 the concierge had not before seen, and she could not re- 
 press her delight at sight of it, for it had only been this 
 morning that Julia had received it from Madame Cinati 
 as her Christmas present. It was very beautiful, fash- 
 ioned without sleeves, and falling from the shoulders with 
 a bell-flare to the bottom of her dress. The high, rolling 
 collar was of the richest quality of chinchilla, while down 
 the front and around the bottom was a broad band of the 
 same handsome fur. It was of a rose-colored stuff, that 
 had a silken sheen, while the lining was brocaded and 
 matched in color the fur trimming. 
 
 When it was adjusted Julia stepped back so that the 
 light from the electrolier fell full upon her. 
 
 The concierge clasped her hands in admiration, say- 
 ing : "Oh ! Mademoiselle ! Mademoiselle ! you are very 
 beautiful." 
 
 "You mean my cloak is beautiful," Julia made answer, 
 good-humoredly, for she herself was truly pleased with 
 the charming creature reflected from the mirror across 
 the way, and Julia did appear extraordinarily beautiful 
 on this particular evening. The rose of the cloak gave 
 color to her face, which was a little pale from the illness 
 of last night. 
 
 The soft, white crepe de Chine dress was the same 
 which she had worn Tuesday night at the Trent recep- 
 tion. The same short string of pearls was around her 
 neck. The hair was softly parted and done low at the 
 back of the neck, where a single rose, of the shade of her 
 cloak nestled. Her bearing was regal, and the expression 
 of the face, though pleased with her appearance, yet 
 showed signs of the late heart struggle, and gave a 
 slight sadness to the otherwise lovely face. 
 
 When Julia stepped out of the house she had to go up 
 a trifle, for the carriage had not stopped directly in front 
 
 375
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 of the entrance, as was its custom, but she remarked 
 nothing upon this departure from the usual. She was 
 young and strong and happy, and, best of all, sensible 
 not at all a slave to the fastidiousness of fashion and 
 so, without the slightest protestation for their remissness 
 of duty, she went up to where the carriage stood, shaded 
 from the glare of the strong light thrown out of the 
 lighted hall. The stars were just beginning to peek out, 
 and the heavy clouds were chasing themselves, so that 
 an hour, in all probability, would see the sky cloudless. 
 
 The silver mountings on the harness flashed in the 
 semi-darkness, while the horses themselves chafed rest- 
 lessly at their bits and nervously lifted and stamped their 
 beautiful feet. 
 
 The livery of the attendants was perfect one, whip 
 and reins in hand and perched erect, upon the high box ; 
 the other, standing beside the carriage door, waiting un- 
 til Mademoiselle should make her appearance, when he 
 would open the door for her entrance. 
 
 Taken in its entirety, the gay city of Paris furnished 
 no handsomer turn-out than that of Madame Cinati, and 
 when the fair creature, wrapped in the rose-colored man- 
 tle, rested her foot on the step, preparatory to entering 
 the carriage, the sight was infinitely more pleasing; and 
 as she inclined forward the light from within the carriage 
 fell upon the small, imperially formed crown of her head, 
 and farther down, upon the soft folds of the cloak. The 
 reflection of the lightened sheen of the rose silk met and 
 mingled with the reflections of the burnished gold of her 
 hair, and, of course, there were shadows too. 
 
 Then the door closed and the carriage rolled quickly 
 away and was soon rounding the Arc de Triomphe. The 
 hoofs of the horses sounded as soft as the hoofs of 
 chased deer that run over a stony way, for the pavement 
 was the wooden pavement of Paris, and this dull roar 
 
 376
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 was the well-bred voice of the city the gentle, half- 
 toned voice of aristocratic Paris. 
 
 Julia thought the servants kind, indeed, to have been 
 so thoughtful of her wishes, for they had drawn across 
 the silk curtains that she might be in the enjoyment 
 of strictest privacy. She had never required this serv- 
 ice at their hand, and she could not but notice it, and con- 
 sider it as an especial kindness shown her ; for she knew 
 they were proud of their carriage and its occupants, and 
 would have preferred the interior shown through draped 
 curtains, than to have secreted the prettiness within by 
 drawn curtains. 
 
 Julia Pembroke was alone with happy thoughts. The 
 distance from her apartment to the mansion on the 
 Champs Elysees was not great, and after riding some 
 time she thought they must certainly soon arrive there. 
 She leaned forward and to one side, pushed back the 
 little silk hanging before the window to look out and 
 judge by some well-known point along the avenue just 
 where she was, when Oh ! horrors ! had she suddenly 
 gone blind? What was this Stygian blackness that met 
 her searching eye? No, she was not blind, for she could 
 see, as usual, by the inside light of the carriage. She 
 grasped hard at the curtain and strained to see in the 
 darkness, but not a ray of light anywhere was to be seen. 
 Where was she? She listened; they were on ground 
 now, and not on the wooden pavement of Champs Ely- 
 sees Avenue. She had been too preoccupied to notice 
 when they had left the pavements. At first a slight fear 
 seized her, but she quickly dismissed it with the thought 
 that the footman had mistaken her order. She dropped 
 the curtain and called through the speaking tube : "Foot- 
 man!" 
 
 "Oui, Madame," came, in answer, back through the 
 tube. 
 
 377
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 "The order was to the Prince de Loire's, on the 
 Champs Elysees," and Julia's accents were commanding; 
 but she was already frightened, for his voice, though dis- 
 torted, as voices always are through trumpets, did not 
 sound to her like that of Madame Cinati's footman. 
 
 "He! ha!" came through the tube, in answer, and 
 with a sharp crack of a whip the carriage lunged for- 
 ward, as the horses dashed off under the cutting blow. 
 
 "We'll go some place else now," came to her, in the 
 thin, high voice of the footman. "You need not cry out 
 no help can reach you we are in the depths of the Bois. 
 So be still, my pretty one." 
 
 At this intelligence Julia sat stiffly upright and stared 
 wildly for some moments. In the Bois! What! Oh! 
 What could this mean ! Surely, some great mistake or 
 could it be that the servants of Madame Cinati would be 
 guilty of an irregularity ! No, no, that could never be ! 
 
 She recalled now that she had not noticed the car- 
 riage and servants, for, as was her custom, she had 
 given the number of the Trents to the footman without 
 so much as a glance at him, and, though all had struck 
 her as the carriage and servants of Madame Cinati, yet 
 now she realized that she might have been mistaken; 
 and, too, she recalled that they had not been standing in 
 front of the door of her apartment house, yet she had 
 not felt the slightest suspicion of an irregularity. Could 
 it be that she had taken a carriage meant for some one 
 else? No, that were not to be considered at all, for the 
 footman had rung at the lodge door and had given the 
 concierge orders to tell her that the carriage was waiting, 
 and when she had come out of the street door there was 
 no other carriage in sight, and this one surely was Mad- 
 ame Cinati's; for, had it not been hers, there would 
 have been something unfamiliar to arrest her attention 
 and she recalled the exact pose of the coachman and 
 
 378
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 his very characteristically peculiar perch upon the box 
 all had appeared as should be. How could a mistake 
 occur? She herself had told the footman, when he had 
 left her in the afternoon, that she would want the car- 
 riage at this hour, and this carriage had come at the ex- 
 act time and had called for her. 
 
 A hundred such thoughts flitted through her brain in a 
 whirl. Julia did not know that a telephonic message 
 countermanding the order she had given had gone to the 
 stables of Madame Cinati just when the horses were har- 
 nessing to serve her. And this message had been to the 
 effect that she would require no carriage that evening. 
 Then, as a further assurance that she had not taken a 
 wrong carriage, at least one waiting for some one else, 
 she looked around for the little mirror, when, lo! no 
 mirror, nor place for one, was to be seen. 
 
 Oh ! horrors ! Now she felt certain that some foul 
 deed was perpetrating. Her head reeled and she felt 
 faint, but she drew herself together again and demanded 
 in as stentorian tones as her voice would permit: 
 
 "Footman, who are you? Answer me at once. Who 
 are you?" 
 
 After a short silence, the only answer was a blood- 
 curdling "Ha! ha! ha!" sent in through the speaking 
 tube. 
 
 "Oh! do tell me what this all means! I plead with 
 you, tell me, tell me ! tell me !" cried Julia, distractedly. 
 
 But the heart of the man was not touched. 
 
 "Save me !" called Julia, through the tube. "Save 
 me, for the sake of your mother, and I will make you 
 all so rich that you will never again do this for money." 
 
 "We're hired to take you this ride, and we never fail 
 to finish the job we begin," was the reply made to her 
 offer.
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 She turned and pulled wildly at the doors, but they 
 did not open; they were securely fastened. She then 
 pounded on the glass, crying: 
 
 "Help! help! help!" But no help came, and the 
 horses did not stop. Instead, they dashed on at a furir 
 ously dizzying rate of speed. 
 
 Again came in through the speaking tube: "Keep 
 quiet, my dame. You're too noisy. You're safe in our 
 keeping, and there you'll stay till we send you to ." 
 
 Perhaps they meant to kill her! How horrible to die 
 so young! Something clutched at her heart. Why could 
 not some one help her? Where was she going? She 
 was in the lonely Bois and at night! Hope fled for an 
 instant and she sat paralyzed with terror. Suddenly 
 through this appalling darkness shone a ray of light. 
 It was a very faint ray to one so nervously overwrought, 
 nevertheless, it was sufficient to penetrate the diabolical 
 blackness at this moment surrounding her, and with 
 sweet insistence it entered her soul, for it shone with a 
 steady light, and she had fixed her soul's eye upon it. 
 It was a gleam from that far-off star beneath whose 
 influence she had spent the first seven years of her life. 
 
 Who was that speaking? Surely, she heard a loving 
 voice say: "Julia Pembroke, never forget to pray to 
 God." She listened, understood and obeyed. She sent 
 out and up an agonizing prayer for deliverance from the 
 evil into which she had fallen, and which threatened her 
 with dire calamity perhaps with death. 
 
 The sudden relaxing by her trustful prayer of the 
 severe tension her nervous organization had suffered 
 from the awful fright of the past few minutes, brought 
 about that peculiar condition a form of faint in which 
 she was able to hear, feel and understand all which 
 transpired around her, but in which she was denied the 
 sense of sight and the power of speech not able to give 
 
 380
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 forth even a weakest moan. Nor was she left the power 
 oi motion sufficient to make the slightest movement. 
 
 The carriage stopped abruptly and the door was 
 pened from without. She felt two strong arms lay 
 hold on her and lift her out of the carriage. There was 
 a great noise and confusion on every side, and she heard 
 a man's voice speaking loudly and hurriedly, but her 
 mind was confused, and she could not understand what 
 he said. 
 
 The sense of sight had returned, and she looked up 
 and saw that the man who held her had on a battered 
 felt hat, and that his clothes were ragged and that he 
 presented a wretchedly degraded appearance. 
 
 This man, she thought, was to kill her. She was too 
 weak to struggle, though she had recovered from her 
 faint enough to gasp and feebly cry: 
 
 "Mercy mercy ! I beg of you do not kill me !" 
 
 No attention was given to her beseechment, for the 
 mind of this taterdemalion was discordant with sounds 
 of a fierce time just at hand, and she was carried to some 
 distance, where he put her down upon the wet grass. 
 
 Great trees loomed up in the darkness about her. 
 She looked up and saw a patch of sky above her, and in 
 it were many stars, and these renewed the strain of hope, 
 through faith in sincere trust in a protecting Providence. 
 But whence could help come now? It was plain that this 
 was the end of life for her. Then a band of light came 
 before her eyes; she felt blinded. Her eyes closed, for 
 the light was dazzling, and she could see nothing around. 
 She wondered if she were dead and if this brightness 
 was of the other world ! 
 
 "Julia!" She heard her name exclaimed. "My God! 
 it is Julia!" 
 
 Her head had fallen back, and a little to one side, so, 
 as she opened her eyes, when her name was pronounced
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the bright flash light did not fall upon her face, but 
 straight upon the face bending over her. 
 
 "Hampton !" Julia gasped, hoarsely ; for it was Hamp- 
 ton Alverstone who bent over her, and his strong arms 
 were now about her in a quick, protecting enfoldment; 
 for she was again losing consciousness, and this time 
 life was a blank an utter blank. 
 
 Alverstone lifted her up and carried her away from 
 where he had found her to some distance off, out of 
 sight of this spot; and he did not slacken his pace uniti 
 he turned a second corner and a green light, a few paces 
 ahead, lit up a pending board, on which could be read the 
 number 12367. 
 
 As he came nearer, the shape of an automobile was 
 discernible in the darkness. Obviously, every precaution 
 for concealment had been taken. The headlight had been 
 hooded, and no light, save the small green one on the 
 back, could be seen, as the car loomed up in the open 
 in the depths of that historic old forest the Bois de 
 Boulogne. 
 
 As Alverstone, with Julia still in his arms, raised his 
 foot to step into his automobile, the chauffeur having 
 opened the door, when he heard his master approaching, 
 a bullet whizzed over his head. 
 
 "Look out!" cried a voice in loud, shrill tones, and 
 in the direction from which Alverstone had just come. 
 Then, following the voice, came a second bullet, but 
 closer than had the first, and there was the near report 
 of a revolver, which could not be far off. 
 
 Alverstone understood and called back in a loud, 
 steady voice : "All right !" then stepped into the automo- 
 bile and put Julia upon the seat and tenderly wrapped 
 her cloak about her. He stood up, breathing quickly, 
 for it was necessary to get his breath before attempting 
 to speak. 
 
 382
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 The curtains were drawn, as had been those of the 
 carriage in which she had been spirited to the Bois; but 
 for what a different purpose! Those for diabolical pur- 
 poses, these for purposes of delicacy. 
 
 Julia had now fully recovered consciousness, for the 
 report of the revolver had aroused her. 
 
 Just as Alverstone turned on the electric light the man 
 in tatters and with the hat battered, came up. Julia saw 
 him and she recoiled in fright, ior she thought him to 
 be an Apache the one who had taken her from the 
 carriage, and whom she had supposed was about to kill 
 her at the time that Alverstone had rescued her ; but she 
 quickly saw her mistake, for Alverstone smiled a cordial 
 greeting and stepped down from the motor car, and a 
 few steps to the left of the door, where he stood while 
 speaking with the man. 
 
 "Are you going to take charge of the young lady?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Yes," replied Alverstone ; "she is a friend of mine." 
 
 Julia could hear distinctly what they were saying, 
 but she could not see the man longer, while she had a 
 side view of Alverstone. 
 
 "I shall see her home, at once." 
 
 "Ah, very well," replied the man. 
 
 "Were any of you hurt?" It was Alverstone who 
 asked the question. 
 
 "No, fortunately; but it was a close call." 
 
 "Did any get away?" 
 
 "None that we have seen. We have three fast, hand- 
 cuffed and in our car, yonder." 
 
 "From what I heard in the cemetery I don't think 
 there were any others," said Alverstone. 
 
 "But," replied the stranger, "it is best to be on guard. 
 No telling who these fellows may have standing some- 
 where behind a tree on the way out." 
 
 383
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 . . ,. .^ 
 
 "Do these fellows say anything?" interrupted Alver- 
 stone. 
 
 "No, not a word; all silent as the rocks. These men 
 are only the tools of some one rich very rich, too. They 
 do not work for nothing ; especially are they well paid for 
 work of this sort." 
 
 Then they went on more hurriedly than at first, and 
 Julia gave no further heed to them. She was safe now 
 and, dismissing all fear, she began to revolve within her 
 mind if perchance she could find therein aught that might 
 disclose to her the name of one who could possibly en- 
 tertain for her a spirit of hatred strong enough to lead 
 to a deed of this nature. But, try as she would, she could 
 find no such one. She knew not one in all the wqrld 
 whose treatment of her could justify a suspicion as per- 
 petrator of this dastardly attempt. Then there was that 
 other question, fully as unanswerable as the one just left: 
 "How came Alverstone to be here? How had he come, 
 to know of this?" It pleased her to think that he had 
 rescued her from danger, and that in the Bois the his- 
 toric woods known for centuries as the place of deeds 
 of darkest hue. It awakened the romantic within her, 
 which, expressed or suppressed, lies within the bosom 
 of every human being. 
 
 Yes, truly he was a knight, and as real a one as ever 
 galloped to the rescue of a fair lady. She was the lady 
 in a beautiful fairy tale, and Alverstone was the hand- 
 some, brave knight, who had come to rescue her,- and 
 who did rescue her, and in as brave a manner as did the 
 knight of the good times olden. And now he was shield- 
 ing her in his motor car, which for magnificence far sur- 
 passed the superlative degree of the imagination of the 
 fairy godmother, who always furnished the means of 
 transportation for the return home of all knightly rescues. 
 
 384
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 Julia might be pardoned for this bit of imagery, for 
 the reactionary force was great indeed, well-nigh enough 
 to unbalance the mind of one not so well poised mentally. 
 
 In less than an hour before she had been riding with 
 what had been her murderers demons of the fairy tale 
 but for the timely arrival of her knight, with whom she 
 was now riding quietly and in a delirium of joy. 
 
 She was awakened from her sweet love dream by: 
 
 "Good-night, Monsieur Alverstone," and the response : 
 
 "Good-night, Monsieur le police." 
 
 Then Alverstone turned to the chauffeur and gave 
 the number of Julia's house, after which he stepped into 
 the automobile and it rolled away quickly and quietly; 
 and the fairy godmother of centuries past gazed in 
 wondering awe at the speedy flight of the thing her 
 chariot could not equal in its swiftest flight. 
 
 They looked at each other for a moment in silence, 
 then Julia spoke : 
 
 "Oh ! you are so good, so kind, so noble, to save me 
 from what was surely the end of life for me ! I have 
 no words in which to express my deep sense of grati- 
 tude for this heroic devotion to me." 
 
 Alverstone made no reply. 
 
 "You think these men intended to kill me, do you 
 not?" again put Julia. 
 
 Again no verbal reply, but he shook his head in 
 assent, while his deep-souled eyes rested upon her with 
 a gaze that was almost stern in its steadiness. 
 
 "Oh ! what is the matter, Hampton ? I see you are 
 angry with me, and you came not to save me, not for 
 love's sake, but as a duty." 
 
 "Julia I mean Miss Pembroke" 
 
 "Oh ! do not call me Miss ; call me as you did last 
 night at the Madeleine." She leaned forward, and, taking 
 his hand, held it tensely, continuing : "You are my savior 
 
 385
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 from this horror; you are my avowed lover, and I love 
 you as well. Then why not call me Julia? . We are 
 good Americans and fully understand each other." 
 
 "Ah ! if we only did," was Alverstone's reply, half 
 moaned. Then he resumed his stern, set gaze. 
 
 "Tell me ! tell me ! all you know !" 
 
 Julia had grown so demonstrative that Alverstone 
 questioned the advisability of complying with her request ; 
 but finally, in a few brief sentences, told her the gist of 
 the entire happenings from his sudden contact with the 
 Apache band in the cemetery to the moment when he rec- 
 ognized her here in the Bois. How, after the departure of 
 the Apaches, he had groped his way about in the darkness, 
 trying to find his way out of the cemetery, but without 
 success, and had given up in despair, when, suddenly, 
 gleaming far off in the distance, he had seen a light, 
 which had proven to be a light on the viaduct, and with 
 it as a guide he had regained his bearings and had 
 reached the elevated way and soon had been at the gate 
 the entrance to Montmartre Cemetery ; how that gate had 
 been locked for the night, but that the keeper had been 
 inside, where he chanced to be arguing the pros and cons 
 of a question at issue in the coming election ; and, after 
 a severe reprimand for not obeying the summons of the 
 closing bell, the gate had been opened and he had then 
 rushed to the police ; and how they had reached the place 
 appointed by the Apaches, and from their ambush the 
 police had taken the one sent to commit the deed, and 
 then how one policeman had disguised himself by putting 
 on the clothes of the Apache just arrested, when the 
 carriage with her in it had come to a stand, as precon- 
 certed; and that was all, for now she was safe, and 
 would soon be in the quiet and security of her apart- 
 ment. 
 
 386
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 He told all, simply and without impulsive accent, for 
 he had never wished to appear the hero. 
 
 "Oh! no, I am not safe; surely an impending doom 
 hangs over me, for only last night some woman, in a 
 long cloak, put flowers in my room while I was at the 
 Madeleine, and in the night I was taken ill very ill 
 and Madame Cinati thinks the roses caused my illness. 
 She sent them for chemical examination, and had she not 
 been in Paris, in all probability I should have died from 
 their noxiousness." 
 
 Alverstone was horrified at this disclosure, and in- 
 stantly understood the meaning of the words : "As strong 
 as possible." 
 
 He realized that for Julia's safety he must tell her 
 of this secret movement against her; but he would not 
 do so now. He would speak to her of it to-morrow. She 
 would be safe until then. She went on and told him all 
 how the Trents had taken her to the station to see Mad- 
 ame Cinati leave on the noon train, and afterwards had 
 gone on through the Bois, for the purpose of restoring 
 her to her normal self, as Lady Trent had expressed it. 
 
 Alverstone's face grew ashen. 
 
 "Are you ill ?" asked Julia, in feverish anxiety. 
 
 "No, Julia, I am not. I was unkind I was cruel. 
 I saw you with the Trents in the Bois, but you did not 
 see me." 
 
 "Ah!" she said, tenderly, lovingly; "and you were 
 jealous." 
 
 This was a question. 
 
 "Yes, Julia; madly, insanely jealous." 
 
 "Now, now, my dear ; did I not tell you that I loved 
 no one but Hampton Alverstone?" 
 
 "Yes, I know," he replied. 
 
 "And that I would marry no one but Hampton Alver- 
 stone, if ever I married?" she continued. 
 
 387
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 ''Yes, Julia, you did; but true love is always jeal- 
 ous. How can it be otherwise? It is all very well to see 
 those held dear to us, as Brutus held his Portia his 
 right, his honorable wife enjoying a pleasant time with 
 others of the opposite sex ; but it is not in nature that 
 true love views, without a pang, the loved one on the 
 heights in loves other than his own." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I see, I understand you, Hampton ; I un- 
 derstand you fully. But I meant no coquetry, and I am 
 sorry, indeed, if I caused you pain ; but it seems you 
 might trust me a little more fully than this." 
 
 She paused, and they were silent for some little time. 
 Julia, mentally questioning whether she should tell him 
 that he had seen her chatting thus gayly with her cousin, 
 Reginald Trent, and not with Lieutenant Trent, a com- 
 parative stranger one whom she had known but a few 
 days. But no, she would not tell him; she would let 
 Lady Trent tell him. 
 
 Perhaps Julia foresaw the unhappy result of the 
 introduction of so startling a bit of news into the tete- 
 a-tete which had brought about this happy denouement 
 this blissful state of soulful love, which now threatened 
 destruction of Maestro Novara's hopes for the future 
 of his art that future when his American singer, as he 
 frequently called Julia, would startle the world in ful- 
 fillment of his prophecy his prophecy, when he had read 
 the musical signs which foretold the appearance of the 
 greatest lyric soprano the world had ever had. 
 
 To Alverstone, sitting across from her and looking 
 intently into her face, she was lovelier than he had yet 
 seen her. She wore the same soft, white dress; the 
 same kind of rose, as sole ornament in the spun gold 
 hair, nestled as artistically as on the evening at the 
 Trent soiree. But her beauty had changed. Her eyes 
 were not the same as on that evening, for they regarded 
 
 388
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 him with a far different light. And it was love true 
 love for him, which lit them and which gave them the 
 beauteousness that filled his soul to the uttermost with 
 trust, with peace, with joy unspeakable . 
 
 At last Alverstone spoke : "Julia, you love me ; I know 
 you do, and that, too fondly to be happy without me in 
 your life. We love each other equally well this I know 
 and this you know for we are sincere of purpose in 
 life, and neither of us would think of trifling for the 
 sake of an unworthy notion a flirtation. Did you feel 
 the slightest indifference for me I would not urge my 
 suit, but you do not. On the contrary, I know you can 
 never be truly happy without me in your life. You do 
 love me, and the lover can never forget the one truly 
 loved never, Julia; it is impossible to forget there is 
 no refuge from this but in full requitment. May I hope 
 for your reply in the affirmative?" 
 
 While speaking he had been holding a hand in each 
 of his, and now he clasped them, palms together, within 
 the clasp of his own, and in this devotional clasp he 
 placed the four hands over his heart, saying "As our 
 hands have joined, let us join our hearts." 
 
 "I am thine, always," said Julia, in a quiet, steady, 
 sincere and tender voice, and with not a shade of regret 
 vibrating it. "I give up my cherished career as a singer, 
 and with not a regret. I am glad, happy, proud to be- 
 come the bride of Hampton Alverstone." 
 
 Then he bowed his head beside the four hands, still 
 tightly clasped above his heart his heart, now attuned 
 to heaven's sweetest musical theme, and which thrilled 
 his soul with a symphony, the divinest ever inspired 
 The Symphony of Love for love has its adagio, its al- 
 legro, its andante, its scherzo, its trio and its finale. 
 
 He was willing to have suffered all this anguish all 
 this torment, since he had abruptly turned his horse at 
 
 389
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 the end of the street where he had seen Julia and Trent 
 together in front of Signer Novara's, to have saved this 
 life, so precious to him. It had been a mad rage of jeau- 
 ousy, he thought, that had led him at so dark an hour into 
 that unseemly quarter; that had made him turn into the 
 cemetery, where he had heard those Apaches, and where 
 he had learned to know from the mouth of the leader the 
 name of the instigator of this terrible plot, the consum- 
 mation of whose perpetration he himself had been able 
 to foil. But this noble American man was like the half 
 of the world which is ignorant of what the other half 
 is doing, ignorant that the actions of one half the world 
 often rules the destinies of the other half. 
 
 When Hampton Alverstone had left his horse at the 
 stables and had started to walk blindly to walk without 
 an objective point there knelt, down deep in a dungeon, 
 a priest, who was praying in an agony like unto that of 
 Gethsemane praying thus intensely and thus sufferingly, 
 for protecting influence to keep in safety the unsuspect- 
 ing one against whom, at that time, was uplifted the hand 
 of an Apache, in the act of inflicting the death stroke. 
 
 Alverstone did not know that his Julia was an heiress 
 of boundless wealth, for the resources of her gold mines 
 were limitless ; nor did he even suspicion that she was a 
 scion of one of the most powerful and most ancient 
 houses of England. 
 
 He thought no further than that she was an American 
 girl, through whose veins coursed honest, earnest and 
 genteel blood of America America's best. 
 
 At last Cupid was conqueror, and the Muse was weep- 
 ing. 
 
 Thus they sat for some moments. There was no 
 thought now no action no nothing, that was tangible 
 no state that was capable of a clear description; only 
 that something which eludes expression that strange 
 
 390
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 phenomenon for it is made in heaven, and knows no out- 
 ward form nor fashion ; and when it finds its true affinity 
 upon earth, each knows the other its own, which is the 
 other's soul, sensitized to vibrate to that other soul sent 
 upon earth by the Maker of the universe to be the only 
 force, in all the wide, wide space capable of sending out 
 the message to which only that other can respond. 
 
 Such loves are made in heaven. All marriages result- 
 ing from other loves are not known in Paradise. 
 
 At last Julia's lips parted, and a gentle gravity rested 
 where the smile had played with the corners of her 
 mouth. Was she sad? No, she was fathoming the 
 depths of true love, upon whose all-satisfying, peaceful 
 current her little boat had now begun its course. 
 
 Did she question whether this was true love? Ah, 
 no ; she knew that this was true love, and had she been a 
 philosopher she had known that all love bearing the 
 stamp of genuine is as sweet, as gentle, as pure, as insis- 
 tent, as everlasting as the love borne a child by the 
 mother, who knows herself responsible for that wee bit 
 of humanity. 
 
 They sat enrapt, this noble pair, in that blissful state, 
 in which to remain is heaven. Such loves have been, 
 such loves can be, and such loves are the only true loves. 
 All else termed love is only dross animal passion the 
 curse of the world. 
 
 True love engages only the head and the heart the 
 other never reaches so high as this. 
 
 Hampton Alverstone was a manly man and Julia 
 Pembroke was a womanly woman, and as this is the 
 highest development of man and of woman, they were 
 capable only of the highest love love that, like their im- 
 mortal souls, shall take on immortality when all that is 
 mortal of them shall have have passed away. 
 
 391
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 
 Early Tuesday morning a fisherman, sitting on the 
 banks of the Seine, saw among the bushes at the side of 
 the Avenue de Neuilly, just where the bridge crosses 
 the river, the body of a woman. He made his way with 
 great difficulty into the tangled overgrowth among which 
 she was lying. After looking at her until he had satis- 
 fied himself that she was dead, he telephoned from the 
 nearest point, and a patrol appeared and the body was 
 soon placed upon a slab in the morgue. 
 
 A young woman, going through the morgue for the 
 purpose of identifying a wayward sister, whom she 
 feared might be among the unfortunates lying cold in 
 death on every side, came upon this still form. She 
 threw herself in frantic grief upon the body, when, to 
 the horror of those around, two large, black, languorous 
 
 eyes opened, and a voice said: "Do not kill me 
 I" 
 
 Then the eyes closed again and the imploration ceased. 
 After questioning by the attendants, and a closer exam- 
 ination by the young searcher, it was known that this 
 was not the lost sister, and the reviving woman was re- 
 moved to the hospital, where the attending physician and 
 surgeon pronounced her hours numbered, for. though 
 the patient had regained consciousness and could speak 
 connectedly, the knife wounds were very deep and be- 
 yond the surgeon's skill and Nature's balm. 
 
 When told the result of the examination made upon 
 her wounds, she called for a priest, and then begged the 
 Sisters of Charity to kneel and pray for her. She con- 
 fessed that she was not a Roman Catholic, but a Catholic 
 
 392
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 of the Greek persuasion, and this only that she might 
 be in harmony with the religious views of her late hus- 
 band the financier Nitolsk, of Calcutta, India; that she 
 had loved a young American Hampton Alverstone by 
 name but he had not loved her in return, for he had 
 loved an American singer, Julia Pembroke, instead; that 
 she had made the acquaintance of this same American 
 singer and had pushed a loving interest upon her, which 
 was all pretense, and only entered into for the purpose 
 of easily accomplishing her destruction; that this she 
 had attempted by means of a sleeping potion, which she 
 had meant to give her at a reveillon on Christmas eve, 
 but by an oversight her own child had gotten it, and 
 would have slept himself to death were it not for the 
 efforts of Alia Dekkah, the chemist, who had furnished 
 her the potion ; that this same chemist had aided her in 
 a second attempt at destruction of the young singer, by 
 dusting a very deadly Oriental poison into the centers 
 and among the petals of a dozen American Beauty roses, 
 which, afterwards, she herself had taken into the apart- 
 ment of the young woman, when she was attending Mid- 
 night Mass; that this attempt also proving unsuccessful, 
 she determined to rid her world of this Julia Pembrqke 
 by means of the Apaches, who, she was certain, would not 
 fail her in this deadly purpose ; that she had met them 
 in Montmartre Cemetery, and there had given them half 
 the sum which, in the letter, she had promised if they 
 would take this Julia Pembroke to the Bois and be sure 
 she never left it alive ; that on Monday, when she had 
 felt freedom from the galling yoke of jealousy, she had 
 seen her riding with the Trents, and she was happy, with 
 not a shade of pain or sorrow upon her face ; that she 
 had not gone to the place of rendezvous, where she was 
 to pay the other half of the money due the Apaches, 
 until they had sent a letter, threatening to steal her little 
 
 393
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 son, and, after putting out his eyes, return him to her; 
 that when she had gone to the rendezvous the bridge 
 over the Seine, near the spot where they had told her 
 she had been found she urged the chief to make another 
 attempt, but he would not concede, and instead had cursed 
 her and stabbed her and pushed her down the bank, to- 
 ward the river, saying, hissingly, that he never worked 
 for any one who argued the price. 
 
 She had been stabbed by one of those parasites of 
 Paris its beggars by day, its robbers by night the 
 growth of a world's sin nurtured within the confines 
 of a great city the gamin of yesterday, to-day grown, 
 becomes the Apache of to-morrow. 
 
 When asked if she would see her child, she objected, 
 adding that it was her dying request he should never 
 know of his mother's wicked life. She gave the address 
 of her home a number on Rue Caumartin and wished 
 them carefully, gently, tenderly to tell her child Adino 
 nothing but that his mother had been stabbed by some 
 one on the street, and that she had died in the hospital, 
 where she had been taken. 
 
 The priest, seeing an increased pallor come out upon 
 her face, raised his right hand above her head in the act 
 of performing the ceremony for the dying, when Mad- 
 ame Nitolsk, frenzied with terror, raised herself in the 
 bed and seized his arm, shrieking : "Save me ! save me ! 
 Oh, my God ! save me ! save me ! I am dying ! I am so 
 wicked! I see no heaven! Where is it! Hell is around 
 me! Ha, I hear the demons laughing in the red fire 
 Satan is there too he stands alone he is in blue 
 flame he beckons me he comes toward me he 
 stretches out his claws Ugh ! he will catch me he will 
 draw me down down there down to everlasting tor- 
 ment. H H H save me save me I am lost I am 
 
 394
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 with God's accursed the devils of hell clutch me I am 
 lost my soul. Save ! Oh God ! Oh God ! Oh !" 
 
 And gasping frightfully, Madame Nitolsk fell back 
 upon the pillows, and the Sisters of Charity goddesses 
 of Mercy and the priest holy man of God bowed low, 
 as they knelt in a prayer of sincerest sympathy and con- 
 scientious devotionality, to await the passing of the soul 
 of Madame Nitolsk from out the body, which she had 
 failed to govern aright. 
 
 On a little street which adjoins an avenue at one end 
 and a boulevard at the other, across from two lamp- 
 posts, which oast a regular light on the buildings across 
 the street, is a Protestant church. 
 
 New Year's eve, just a little before eight o'clock, 
 one automobile,, number 12367, and the landau of the 
 Trents were stopped before this church. One of the 
 church doors was partly opened, and the light from with- 
 in made a narrow path across the sidewalk outside. 
 It was very cold, and the dull-black horses champed rest- 
 lessly at their bits. The moon, high up, shone clear 
 and uncircled. The stars blinked on, as if the nipping 
 air picked at their wicks each second. 
 
 Every now and then a passer, seeing the light, looked 
 in at the door, and then at the carriage -and automobile. 
 
 395
 
 AN AMERICAN SINGER IN PARIS. 
 
 He understood it was a marriage, but, seeing no one, 
 shrugged his shoulders and went on. It had been snow- 
 ing, and from the end of the street near the Boulevard 
 Haussmann came the clink of shovels, as they gathered 
 up the snow, and from the end of the street which ad- 
 joins the Avenue Champs Ely sees sounded the dull echo 
 of a main way of a great city. 
 
 It was the marriage of Julia Pembroke to Hampton 
 Alverstone. 
 
 396
 
 UC SOUTHERN RE 
 
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