s can evoke and render in your various media: through the
voice, the violin, the piano--perhaps the weakest, the least
convincing of all."

She was very lovely, very alluring, thought Corsini. She had
considerable mentality, even great spirituality. Alone with his violin
and her, he could so charm her that perchance she might cast off her
high estate, the estate of the Princess, and venture forth with him
into the world of exquisite music and unknown dreams. But the time had
not come for that. She had only extended a kind and gentle friendship.
He could not, at the moment, ask for more. It would be presumption on
his part.

"I trust I shall not weary you," he said, with a smile of apology. "As
a violinist, I have met with some success; as the Director of the
Imperial Opera, I am not quite a failure. But these successes, for
what they are worth, do not put limits on my ambition. I want to be
something greater than either--the successful composer."

The Princess sighed. "Ah, that is my ambition, too. I have tried every
instrument, and failed. I have composed heaps of things, but there is
no originality in them. I play Chopin and try to imitate him, Wagner
with the same result. I have an artistic instinct, Signor Corsini, but
no creative ability. I must be a listener all my life, envying the
people who render what I would give all my fortune to express."

Corsini thought of his interview with Salmoros, when that sedate and
experienced financier had expressed the inmost desires of his soul,
that he would give a hundred thousand pounds out of his princely
fortune to acquire half of the Italian's executive art.

Corsini looked at her, his artist soul beaming in his expressive eyes.

"It is one of the tragedies of life, Princess. You, like my good
friend Salmoros, desire to be an executant, and your fingers refuse to
obey the impulses of your soul. You want to be a composer, and you
cannot express your ideas. You do not create, you only imitate."

"Alas, yes," answered the Princess mournfully.

Corsini half rose from his seat in his agitation. "With me, Princess,
it is different. The executive part comes easily to me; I do not worry
about that; it is, of course, a gift. But, as I told you, I long to be
a composer. That is the reason why I always walk whenever the distance
is not too long."

"Ah, yes, we have wandered far from the original subject," answered
the Princess, realising that Corsini had got upon the great