age like a young
Apollo, eager and daring. And now-- She searched his face.

There were lines there; shadows under his eyes, and his cheeks were
thin. The lower part of his face was like a rock, firm and harsh; and
his brows were heavy and swollen. Before, he had played with his
fingers, and toyed with his art; now he played with his heart and his
soul. His youth was gone; he was a man. He had known life and
suffered.

She stared at him, and her hands were convulsed, clasping one another
under the cloak. An impulse came over her to throw herself from the
gallery at his feet, as she had flung the violets; and she crouched
closer against the wall, clinging to it.

"Velasco!--Velasco!"

A roar went up from the House.

The sound of the clapping was like rain falling; a mighty volume of
sound, deafening, frightening.

Kaya crouched still lower. He had taken the violin from his cheek and
was bowing; his eyes scanned the House with a nonchalant air.

"Bravo--Velasco!"

The people were standing now and stamping, and screaming his name.
They hid him, and she could not see. Kaya leaned forward, her gold
hair gleaming in the light, her eyes fixed.

"Velasco--Velasco!"

Suddenly he started.

He looked up at the gallery and his bow slipped from his hand. He
stared motionless. The first violin stooped and picked up the bow.

"Monsieur--" he whispered, "Monsieur Velasco, are you ill?"

"No--no!" The Violinist passed his hand over his eyes. "No--I am not
ill! It was a vision--an illusion! A trick of the senses! It is gone
now!"

He bowed again mechanically, taking the bow, lifting the violin again
to his cheek. "An illusion!" he muttered: "A trick of the senses!
God, how it haunts me!" He nodded to the Kapellmeister.

They went on.

* * * * * *

"Let me out!" said Kaya, "I am faint--let me out! Let me--out!" She
struggled to the door, through the crowd, pressing her way slowly,
painfully. Her cheeks were white and she was panting.

"Ah--for God's sake! Let me out!"

"Come this way, Velasco, this way through the passage. The din in the
House is terrific--you have driven them mad! Hark to your name, how
they shout it and stamp! They will be rushing to the stage door
presently, as soon as the ushers have turned out the lights and the
hope of your reappearance is gone. No wonder, man--you played like a
god! You were like one inspired! Shall you risk it;