r had faded from Leonie's face, but her father did not notice
it.

"The empress condescended to speak to me about it to-day. Her Majesty
has the welfare of the opera very much at heart, and, as she says, one
is responsible for a talent like yours. It is the rarest of gifts. Why
not consecrate it to the elevation of art and the delight of the world?
A vocation for art is as sacred as one for religion, and it would be
almost a crime in me to hold you back from so manifest a destiny as
yours. Well, what have you to say, child?" and he looked full into his
daughter's pale, agitated face. "It is too much for you, my darling: you
are quite overcome. Think it over and tell me to-morrow night." And he
kissed her trembling lips with unusual emotion.

Leonie went to her room, but not to sleep. How short was that sleepless
night, with its whirl of conflicting resolutions, its torrent of
emotion, its ceaseless panorama of dissolving views! Opera after opera
unrolled in magical splendor before her eyes, resounded in bursts of
harmony in her ears and flowed in waves of delicious sweetness into her
heart. And in all she was queen, and hearts rose and fell at her bidding
as the ocean-waves beneath the strong and sweet compelling of the moon.
It was intoxication, but underlying it was the deep satisfaction of a
soul that has found the true outlet of its highest powers. "All the
current of her being" surged and eddied into this one career that opened
so invitingly before her. But she could not say "I will," though she
wished to do so. The glories faded and another vision came. Her mother
seemed to lie before her, dying, forsaken, remorseful, sinful. Was it
her mother? was it herself? "Art thou stronger than I?" asked the
voiceless lips.--"Yea, I am stronger," replied the soul of Leonie. And
then a sudden revelation of incipient vanities and weaknesses and pride
flashed across her consciousness as in the great light of God. Leonie
shrank away self-abased. "Did my worship of art, which I thought so
holy, hide all this?" she questioned.

The morning light came faintly through the curtained windows. Leonie
rose, dressed herself quickly, and calling a bonne went to the Madeleine
to early mass. After mass she entered the confessional of the
white-haired father who had been her spiritual guide for the three years
and a half of her life in Paris. On her return she locked herself into
her room and passed the day alone.

"Well, my girl," inqui