me. He was
then the Marquis of B., in the suite of the Prince of Wales, when he
went to pay a visit to the Tzar's court. The marquis loved me, as I
thought sincerely. I was very young, and I believed him. After he went
back to London, he arranged for me to sing in grand opera; they tell me
that it was a lie; that I could not have sung in opera; that he only
wanted to get me away from my family. They tell me that it was a wise
thing, directed by God, that I should drop the letter in which he gave
me directions how to meet him, that my sister-in-law should find it, and
that my brother should overtake me at the train, and prevent my going. I
do not know. I only know that I have always loved him. Even after he
became the Duke of M., and married one of your countrywomen, I still
loved him. Now he is dead, and I love him still. See, I wear this black
ribbon always in his memory. Yet they tell me that he lied to me, and
that it was for the best. Well, we are all in God's hands." And she
sighed deeply.

She drew her zither toward her, and began to play as I never heard that
simple little instrument played before. Then one by one they began to
sing. It was amazing how little of the freshness of their voices has
been lost during all this time. I never heard such singing. A bass voice
which would have graced the Tzar's choir, came booming from the old man
with the black beard, as they yodeled and sang and sang and yodeled
again, until their little audience went quite wild with delight.

Bee and Mrs. Jimmie were beginning to forgive us. Jimmie dashed over to
Fraeulein Therese, at Bee's request, to ask who the old man was.

"It's the cowherd," he announced, with his evil-minded simplicity, and
seemed to obtain a huge interior enjoyment from the way Bee pushed her
chair back out of range, and looked disgusted.

Presently came Rosa, the chambermaid, and Hedwig, the waitress, and a
dozen young men from the neighbouring hamlet, and began to dance the
"schuplattle." I have seen this wonderful dance performed on the stage
and in other Tyrolese villages, but never have I seen it danced with the
abandonment of those young peasants in that little kitchen on the
Achensee. They were all beautiful dancers. The young "shipmaster" seized
our pretty Rosa around the waist, and they began to waltz. Suddenly,
without a moment's warning, they fell apart, with a yell from the boy
which curdled the blood in our veins. Rosa continued waltzing alone,