rose from his chair and asked what name he
should address the stranger by. Rosina told him, and he was sufficiently
unversed in the world of music to have never heard it before and to
experience a difficulty in getting it straight now.

"Von Ibn, Von Ibn," Rosina repeated impatiently. "Oh, I am so much
obliged to you; he--he--"

She stopped; some queer grip was at her throat. Her companion was
touched; he had never imagined her going all to pieces like that, and he
felt sorry for the terrible earnestness betrayed in her voice and
manner.

"I'll go," he said, "and he shall be here in five minutes."

Then he walked away, and she bent her eyes upon her music-card, asking
herself if it was possible that not four full days had elapsed since the
first one left her to seek Von Ibn at her request. This time she did not
look after the messenger, she could not; she only felt able to breathe
and try to grow calmer so that whatever might--

Ah, the long minutes!

Then a voice at her side said, almost harshly:

"You wish to speak to me, madame!"

She looked up and straight into his eyes; their blackness was so cool
and hard that some women's courage would have been daunted; but the
courage of Rosina was a mighty one that rose with all opposing
difficulties.

"Why are you not _en route_ to Leipsic?" she asked.

"Why are you not in Constance?" he retorted.

"Sit down," she said, "and I will tell you."

"I do not wish to take the place of your friend," he answered, with a
stab of sharpest contempt.

"I think that he will not return for a little."

Von Ibn remained standing, in the attitude of one detained against his
inclination. She could not but resent the attitude, but she felt that
her need of the moment required the swallowing of all resentment, and
she did so. She was not able to raise her eyes to his a second time,
but fixed them instead upon her card, and began in a low tone:

"Monsieur, I intended going--"

"I can't hear what you say," he interrupted.

"You'll have to sit down then; I can't speak any louder; I'm afraid that
I shall cry," in spite of herself her voice trembled at the last words.

"Why should you cry?" he asked, and he sat down at the table beside her,
and, leaning his chin upon his hand, turned his eyes upon her with a
look that blended undisguised anger with a strange and passionate
hunger.

She was biting her lip,--the under one,--unconscious of the fact that by
so doing she rendered