whole attention. It threw wide open the pearly gates of a
new and fairer life.

Many a time she had heard famous players at the theatre. They had never
interested her as did this one. He was not a very fine player. His music
was not particularly wonderful, but there was something about it that
pleased her greatly. She had been already excited by the music. The
majestic and noble character of the mass, the chorus sounding so loud
and grand through the church, the orchestra, her father's organ with its
great thunder tones rolling under it all, had sent the blood tingling
through her veins. The great company kneeling on the floor so far below.
The lights and flowers on the altar. The blue clouds of incense rising
softly on the air and the dusky bars of colored light slanting across
the springing arches. The scene, the music, everything affected her.
Then that song on the violin. It was beautiful--and--if she could.
No--she never, never could--and it was all a dream. She was even
reluctant to leave for home after the service was over and wanted to
linger in the vast, dim church and dream it all over again.

If she only could play like that--if she could have a real violin, all
her own and play on it, why, that would be just too wonderfully grand
and splendid for anything. There were not words in the French language
that could express the pleasure it would give her. She could not speak
of it. It was too good to talk about.

For several days she thought about it and dreamed of it and wondered if
it would do to tell her father and ask him to give her a violin. At last
the secret became unbearable and on creeping into her mother's bed
before daylight one morning for her regular petting she ventured to lisp
to her mother that she wanted a violin--"a real one, to play upon
herself."

The morning star faded away quickly, and there was only the dull grey
dawn in the child's sky. Her mother treated her request with laughter
and put out the little Camilla's hope with a flat refusal.

CHAPTER II.

SUNRISE.

It was the town talk. The women gathered round the fountain in the Place
Royal and filled their water jars and gossiped about Salvatore Urso's
silly whim with his child. Madame Dubois settled her cap and gave it as
her opinion that no good would come of such a foolish thing. Madame
Tilsit knew better, if the child wanted to play, why, let her play. The
priest would not forbid it. Madame Perche knew it was far better