pped it about her, in spite
of the heat, covering her throat. There was a hat also on the peg; she
put it on, hiding her yellow curls, and drew the veil over her face.

"If I could only get a hearing!" she said to herself, "There must be
someone in Ehrestadt, who would listen to my voice and give me an
opening. I will try once more, and then--"

She buttoned the cloak with her fingers trembling, and went out.

"Is the Herr Kapellmeister in?"

"Yes, Madame."

The rosy cheeked maid hesitated a little, and her eyes wandered
doubtfully from the veil to the cloak and the shabby skirt.

"Kapellmeister Felix Ritter, I mean."

"He is in, Madame, but he is engaged."

"May I come in and wait?"

The maid hesitated again: "What name shall I say, Madame?"

"My name," said Kaya, "is Mademoiselle de--de Poussin."

The German words came stumbling from her lips. She crossed the
threshold and entered a large salon, divided by curtains from a room
beyond. There was a grand piano in the corner of the salon, and about
the walls were shelves piled high with music; propped against the piano
stood a cello.

Kaya looked at the instrument; then she sank down on the divan close to
the piano, and put out her fingers, touching it caressingly. From the
next room, beyond the curtain, came the sound of cups rattling, and a
sweet, rich aroma as of coffee, mingling with the fragrance of cigars
freshly lighted.

The girl threw back her veil, scenting it as a doe the breeze when it
is thirsty and cannot drink. She smiled a little, still caressing the
keys with her fingers. "It is strange to be hungry," she said, "The
Countess Mezkarpin was never hungry!" Then suddenly she started and
turned white to the lips, swaying forward with her eyes dilated.

From behind the curtain came voices talking together; one was harsh and
rather loud, and the other-- Kaya's eyes were fixed on the curtain;
she rose slowly from the divan and crept forward on tip-toe, a step at
a time. The other!--She listened. No, it was the harsh voice talking
rapidly, loudly in German, and what he was saying she could not
understand; then came the clatter of cups again, and silence, and a
fresh whiff of cigar smoke floating, wafted through the curtain.

She crept closer, still listening, her hands clasped together, the
cloak flung back from her shoulders.

"The other--there!"

She put out her hand and touched the curtain, pulling it aside
slightly, timidly,