" she faltered, "Then you won't hear me?"

"I never said I wouldn't hear you, Madame; I simply warned you. If you
were alto now--but for a soprano there is one chance in a thousand,
unless--" He struck a chord on the piano.

The chorus sat very still. The trying of a new voice was always a
diversion; it was more amusing to watch the grilling of a victim than
to be scorched themselves; and the Kapellmeister in that mood--oh Je!
They smiled warily at one another behind their scores, and stared at
the slight, girlish figure beside the pianoforte.

She was stooping a little as if near-sighted, looking over the shoulder
of the Conductor at the music on the piano rack.

"Can you read at sight, Madame?"

"Yes," said Kaya.

"Have you ever seen this before?"

"I studied it--once."

"This?"

"I studied that too."

"So," he said, "Then you either have a voice, or you haven't, one or
the other. Where did you study?"

The girl hesitated a moment; then she bent lower and whispered to him:
"St. Petersburg, Monsieur, with Helmanoff."

"The great Helmanoff?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"You are not French then, you are Russian? They told me Mademoiselle
Pou--Pou--"

"That is not my real name."

"No?"

Kaya quivered a moment: "I am--Russian," she said, "I am an exile.
Don't ask, Monsieur--not here! I am--I am afraid."

The Kapellmeister went on improvising arpeggios on the piano as if he
had not heard. He seemed to be pondering. "That name--" he said,
"Pou--Poussin! Someone called on me the other day of that name. I
remember it, because when I came in she was gone. Was it you?"

The girl stood silent.

He turned suddenly and looked at her: "You are young," he said, "and
too slim to have a voice. Na--child! You are trembling as if you had
a chill, and the House is like an oven. Come--don't be frightened.
The chorus are owls; they can stare and screech, but they know nothing.
Sit down here by me and sing what you choose. Let your voice out."

"Shall I sing a Russian song, Monsieur?"

"Very well."

The Kapellmeister leaned back in his chair with his arms folded. He
gave one fierce glance at the chorus over his shoulder. "Hush!" he
cried, "No noise if you please. Attend to your scores, or go out.
Now, Fraulein--sing."

Kaya pushed the chair to one side and moved closer to the piano,
leaning on it and gazing out into the darkened House, at the rows of
seats, ghostly and empty, and the black cave bey