h his violin, and afterwards directed her to sing an
air from a collection of songs on the table. As her deep, rich
contralto notes swelled round and full, he shut his eyes and nodded
his head as if in an ecstacy; and, when she concluded, he rapped his
violin heavily with the bow, and exclaimed,--

"Some day when you sing that at _Della Scala_, remember the poor devil
who taught it to you in a hovel. Soaked as those old walls are with
music from the most famous lips the world ever applauded, they hold no
echoes sweeter than that last trill. After all, there is no
passion--no pathos--comparable to a perfect contralto crescendo. It is
wonderful how you Americans squander voices that would rouse all
Europe into a _furore_."

"I am afraid your eager desire for pupils biases your judgment, and
invests my voice with fictitious worth," answered Salome, eyeing him
suspiciously.

"Ha! you mean that I flatter, in order to keep you. Not so, miss. If
St. Cecilia herself asked tuition without good pay, I should shut the
door in her face; but, much as I need money, I would not risk my
reputation by praising what was poor. If one of my children--that
miserable little Beatrice, yonder--only had your voice, do you think I
would copy music, or teach beginners, or live in this cursed hole?
You have a fortune shut up in your throat, and some day, when you are
celebrated, at least do me the justice to tell the world who first
found the treasure; and, out of your wealth, spare me a decent
tombstone in the Campo Santo of--of--"

He laughed bitterly, and, seizing his violin, filled the room with
mournful _miserere_ strains.

"How long a course of training do you think will be necessary before
the inequalities in my voice can be corrected and my vocalization
perfected?"

"You are very young, miss, and it would not do to strain your voice,
which is well-nigh perfect in itself; but, of course, your execution
is defective,--just as a young nightingale cannot warble all its
strains before it is full-feathered. If you study faithfully, in one
year, or certainly one and a half, you will be ready for your
engagement at Della Scala. Hist! see if you can follow me?"

He played a subtle, chromatic passage, ending in a trill, and the
orphan echoed it with such accuracy and sweetness that the teacher
threw down his bow, and, while tears stood in his glittering eyes, he
put his brown hand on the girl's head, and said, earnestly,--

"There ought t