orning, and
sang an Austrian melody, a capella. It was not very interesting.

The women stood in front and yelled with a hearty will; the men roared
in the background. Krayne saw his young lady, holding her apron by the
sides, her head thrown back, her mouth well opened; but he could not
distinguish her individual voice. How pretty she was! He sipped his
coffee. Then came a zither solo--that abominable instrument of plucked
wires, with its quiver of a love-sick clock about to run down; this
parody of an aeolian harp always annoyed Krayne, and he was glad when the
man finished. A stout soprano in a velvet bodice, her arms bare and
brawny, the arms of a lass accustomed to ploughing and digging potatoes,
sang something about turtle doves. She was odious. Odious, too, was her
companion, in a duo through which they screamed and rumbled--"Verlassen
bin i." At last she came out and he saw by the programme that her name
was Roeselein Gich. What an odd name, what an attractive girl! He
finished his coffee and frantically signalled his waitress. It was
against the doctor's orders to take more than one cup, and then the
sugar! Hang the doctor, he cried, and drank a second cup.

She sang. Her voice was an unusually heavy, rich contralto. That she was
not an accomplished artiste he knew. He did not haunt opera houses for
naught, and, like all fat men who wear red ties in the forenoon, he was
a trifle dogmatic in his criticism. The young woman had the making of an
opera singer. What a Fricka, Brangaene, Ortrud, Sieglinde, Erda, this
clever girl might become! She was musical, she was dramatic in
temperament--he let his imagination run away with him. She only sang an
Oberbayerische yodel, and, while her voice was not very high, she
contrived a falsetto that made her English listener shiver. This yodel
seemed to him as thrilling as the "_Ho yo to ho!_" of Brunnhilde as she
rushes over the rocky road to Valhall. _La la liriti! La la lirita!
Hallali!_ chirped Roeselein, with a final flourish that positively
enthralled Hugh Krayne. He applauded, beating with his stick upon the
table, his face flushed by emotion. Decidedly this girl was worth the
visit to Marienbad.

And he noted with delight that Fraeulein Gich had left the stage. Basket
in hand, she went from table to table, selling pictures and programmes
and collecting admission fees. At last he would be able to speak with
the enchantress, for he prided himself on the purity of his Ge