, Maestro," he said; "you are truly a
creative artist, for you not only create melodious sounds and
spirit-stirring ideas, but you actually create flesh and blood sirens
and human creatures as lovely as your sounds, and far more real. The
Signorina is your work, and see, as is natural, how devoted she is to
her maker."

"Every one thinks others happier than himself, Prince," said the old
man, still gloomy. "As for the Signorina, she has much more made me than
I her. I shall only injure and cripple her."

The girl looked at him with tears in her eyes.

"The Maestro is not well," she said to the Prince; "he will be more
cheerful to-morrow. Success frightens him. It is often more terrible
than failure."

"He fears that you will forsake him, when you are courted and praised so
much," said the Prince in a low voice, for the old man seemed scarcely
to notice what passed; "he fears you will forsake him," and as he spoke
the Prince kept his eyes fixed inquiringly on the girl's face.

The Signorina said nothing. She turned her dark great eyes full on the
old man, and the Prince wanted no more than what the eyes told him.

"She is a glorious creature," he said to himself.

VI.

THE next morning the crash came. The Maestro was informed that only one
more performance could be allowed at the Imperial Theatre, and that,
further, there were difficulties in the way of the performance being
permitted in any theatre in Vienna. The old man was crushed: he came to
the Signorina with the notice in his hand.

"_Mia cara_," he said, making great efforts to be calm, "this is the
end. I am a broken and a ruined man. I have been all my life waiting for
this chance--this gift of inspiration. I thought that it would never
come; it tarried so long, and I grew so old. At last it came, but only
just in time. I have never written anything like this music, and never
shall again. Now it is stopped. I must go. I cannot stay where it must
not be played; I must go somewhere, and take my music with me. It will
not be for long. The Prince will not leave Vienna. He is pleased with
the city and with his reception. I must leave you all."

The girl was on her feet before him, with flashing eyes which were full
of tears.

"Maestro!" she said; "what mean you to talk in this way? Do you suppose
that I will ever leave you, that I will stay if you go? I owe everything
to you. I cannot sing without you. I will follow you to
Paris--anywhere. Whate