er, "were you
taught?"

Anielka narrated her history, and when she had finished, the prima
donna spoke so kindly to her that she felt as if she had known her for
years. Anielka was Teresina's guest that day and the next. After the
Opera, on the third day, the prima donna made her sit beside her, and
said:--

"I think you are a very good girl, and you shall stay with me always."

The girl was almost beside herself with joy.

"We will never part. Do you consent, Anielka?"

"Do not call me Anielka. Give me instead some Italian name."

"Well, then, be Giovanna. The dearest friend I ever had but whom I
have lost--was named Giovanna," said the prima donna.

"Then, I will be another Giovanna to you."

Teresina then said, "I hesitated to receive you at first, for your
sake as well as mine; it you are safe now. I learn that your master
and mistress, after searching vainly for you, have returned to
Poland."

From this time Anielka commenced an entirely new life. She took
lessons in singing every day from the Signora. and got an engagement
to appear in inferior characters at the theater. She had now her own
income, and her own servant--she, who till then had been obliged to
serve herself. She acquired the Italian language rapidly, and soon
passed for a native of the country.

So passed three years. New and varied impressions failed, however,
to blot out the old ones. Anielka arrived at great perfection in her
singing, and even began to surpass the prima donna, who was losing
her voice from weakness of the chest. This sad discovery changed the
cheerful temper of Teresina. She ceased to sing in public; for she
could not endure to excite pity, where she had formerly commanded
admiration.

She determined to retire. "You," she said to Anielka, "shall now
assert your claim to the first rank in the vocal art. You will
maintain it. You surpass me. Often, on hearing you sing, I have
scarcely been able to stifle a feeling of jealousy."

Anielka placed her hand on Teresina's shoulder, and kissed her.

"Yes," continued Teresina, regardless of everything but the bright
future she was shaping for her friend. "We will go to Vienna--there
you will be understood and appreciated. You shall sing at the
Italian Opera, and I will be by your side--unknown, no longer sought,
worshiped--but will glory in your triumphs. They will be a repetition
of my own; for have I not taught you? Will they not be the result of
my work!"

Though Anie