ou are still angry," said Kaya, "Don't be angry. If you don't want
me to sing, I will lie here as you tell me and--try to get stronger."
She moved her head restlessly on the pillow, "Yes--I will!"

Ritter began to strum on the window-panes with his strong fingers: "The
Doctor is here," he said, "ask him. I don't want you breaking down and
spoiling the opera, that is all. The rest is nothing to me. Come in!"
There was a certain savageness in his tone, and he went on strumming
the motive on the panes. "Come in, Doctor."

The door opened and a young man came forward. He was short of stature,
and slight, with spectacles, and he stooped as if from much bending
over folios.

"My patient is up?" he said.

"Walking about the room!" interrupted the Kapellmeister curtly.

The Doctor sat down by the pallet and took the girl's wrist between his
fingers: "Why does it throb like this?" he said, "What is troubling
you?"

"I want to sing," persisted Kaya defiantly, "If I sit in the flies with
cushions behind me, and only a small, small part--couldn't I do it,
Doctor?"

The young man glanced at the Kapellmeister's rugged shoulders, and
shrugged his own: "Why should it hurt you?" he said, "You have a throat
like a tunnel, and a sounding board like the arch of a bridge. Your
voice should come tumbling through it like a stream, without effort.
Don't tire yourself and let the part be short; it may do you good."

Kaya's eyes began to glisten and sparkle: "It is only the bird's part!"
she cried, "and I am hidden in the flies, so no one can see me. Ah--I
am happy! I am well, Doctor--you have made me well!"

Presently the old woman brought in the soup and the Doctor rose: "Will
you come with me, Herr Kapellmeister?" he said, "We can smoke below in
the mill, while the Fraeulein eats. I have still a few minutes."

Then the Kapellmeister left the window, and the two men went out
together.

"Marta!" cried the girl, "I can sing! Did you hear him say it? Give
me the soup quickly, while it is hot. I feel so strong--so well!"

She began taking the soup with one hand, and rubbing her cheek with the
other: "Now, isn't it red, Marta? Look--tell me! Nurse, while you
knit, tell me--did you see how angry he was, and how he went out
without a word? It is he himself who asked me to sing, so why should
he be angry now?"

The old woman clicked her knitting needles: "How do I know!" she said,
"He lives alone so much, and he is crus