and, once
for all, "done." The accompaniments were difficult, but not unnecessarily
so; they were free from fatuous ingenuity and fine writing.

"I wish he'd indicated his tempi a little more clearly," I remarked as I
finished Sarka for the third time. "It matters, because he really has
something to say. An orchestral accompaniment would be better, I should
think."

"Yes, he sent the orchestral arrangement. Poppas has it. It works out
beautifully,--so much colour in the instrumentation. The English horn
comes in so effectively there," she rose and indicated the passage, "just
right with the voice. I've asked him to come next Sunday, so please be
here if you can. I want to know what you think of him."

Cressida was always at home to her friends on Sunday afternoon unless she
was billed for the evening concert at the Opera House, in which case we
were sufficiently advised by the daily press. Bouchalka must have been
told to come early, for when I arrived on Sunday, at four, he and
Cressida had the music-room quite to themselves and were standing by the
piano in earnest conversation. In a few moments they were separated by
other early comers, and I led Bouchalka across the hall to the
drawing-room. The guests, as they came in, glanced at him curiously. He
wore a dark blue suit, soft and rather baggy, with a short coat, and a
high double-breasted vest with two rows of buttons coming up to the loops
of his black tie. This costume was even more foreign-looking than his
skin-tight dress clothes, but it was more becoming. He spoke hurried,
elliptical English, and very good French. All his sympathies were French
rather than German--the Czecks lean to the one culture or to the other. I
found him a fierce, a transfixing talker. His brilliant eyes, his gaunt
hands, his white, deeply-lined forehead, all entered into his speech.

I asked him whether he had not recognized Madame Garnet at once when we
entered the restaurant that evening more than a week ago.

"_Mais, certainement!_ I hear her twice when she sings in the afternoon,
and sometimes at night for the last act. I have a friend who buys a
ticket for the first part, and he comes out and gives to me his pass-back
check, and I return for the last act. That is convenient if I am broke."
He explained the trick with amusement but without embarrassment, as if it
were a shift that we might any of us be put to.

I told him that I admired his skill with the violin, but his songs