"You see, when I am not so nervous it
will go better."

The Kapellmeister laughed and took a card out of his pocket: "Write
your name here," he said, "Your real one. I won't tell--and your
address."

Kaya drew back suddenly: "I live in the mill," she said, "You know, the
Nonnen-Muehle by the promenade? You won't let any one know, will you,
Monsieur, because--"

"Are you afraid of spies, child? Tut, the chorus can't hear. I won't
tell a soul."

"No one?"

"On my honour--no one. Now, your name?"

She looked away from him a moment; then she took the pencil and wrote
on the card in small, running letters: "Marya Pulitsin."

"So that's your real name, is it?"

Her eyes were clear and blue like a child's. "No," she said, "--no."
And she glanced back over her shoulder with her finger to her lips.

"Never mind," said the Kapellmeister. "You are white, child, what are
you afraid of? There are no spies here! Give me the card. That is a
strange place to live in--the Nonnen-Muehle! I didn't know anyone lived
there, excepting the old man who takes charge of the mill. Well, in a
day or so--perhaps towards the end of the week you will hear from me."
He waved to the chorus.

"Stand up, meine Herren, meine Damen!" he said, "Get your scores ready.
Good-bye now, Fraulein.--Donnerwetter! What ails you?"

"If you want to try my voice again," said Kaya timidly, "Would you
mind, sir, trying it to-day?--This afternoon, or even this evening?"

"Now by all that is holy, why, pray? I have the solos to-night, and
this afternoon a rehearsal for 'Siegfried.'" The Kapellmeister
frowned: "Do you think I have nothing on earth to do, child, but run
after voices?"

"Oh!" cried Kaya, "I didn't mean that! I beg your pardon. It doesn't
matter--I do beg your pardon, Herr Director." She flushed suddenly,
and started away from him, as if to put the piano between them and flee
towards the door.

He looked at her narrowly, and the harsh lines came back to his face.
"A pest on these singers!" he muttered under his breath, "They are all
alike--they want coddling. She thinks perhaps she is a Patti and is
planning for her salary already. Potztausend! Bewahre!" He turned on
his heel curtly and mounted the platform, taking up the baton.

"Now," he cried, "The D again--all together! Pia--no!"

Kaya stole across the stage swiftly on tiptoe, threading her way
through the scenery that was standing in rows, one behind the other,