the great trial. All the candidates met in one room, the seventy-six
boys and their friends and the one girl with her father.

All the names were numbered and the numbers placed in a box and shaken
up. Then, some one drew them out, one at a time, and called off the
numbers. Camilla's number was nine, so her turn came quite early in the
day. This was fortunate, for she was fresh and eager to begin and the
jury had not become weary with their task. One at a time the boys were
admitted to the presence of the grand jury. Big fellows, fourteen and
fifteen years old, who had played before she was born. The case really
looked discouraging and desperate. Would she ever get in? She was only
seven, and looked hardly six. Her fingers were thin and her face pale.
She hardly seemed fitted to compete with grown up lads. It did not deter
her from trying, and when her number was called she felt sure she would
do her best.

They led her into a room where eight solemn looking men sat in big
green-backed chairs round a large table. Each had an inkstand and pen
and paper and every one had a look of severe dignity that was positively
appalling. There was the little Auber, the Director, Rossini the great
composer looking fat and grand in his impressive wig, Carraffa the
celebrated composer, Allard the violinist and four others looking
equally wise and solemn.

They placed her before the double quartette of players who were to give
the accompaniment and prepared to hear her work. She would try the
_andante_ and _finale_ from the _Fourth Concerto_, by Rode with
accompaniment for violin, second, viola, and violincello.

Here was her one grand chance. She must do her very best, stand just
right, and remember everything Felix Simon had said. Her father and
mother depended upon her.

The double quartette began to play and she forgot everything save the
music. The solemn judges never spoke, nor made a sign in any way
expressive of pleasure or disappointment. Some of them scratched their
pens over the paper through it all. Others looked straight at her in a
severe manner that was perfectly dreadful.

At last it was over. The eight gentlemen never smiled or uttered a word
or gave even a look that seemed like hope. She couldn't guess whether
she had failed or won. Somebody led her back to her father in the room
where the seventy and six boys were still waiting the result of the
trial.

Those men looked so black and really it was all so grim a