o,--she pronounced her words distinctly and
forcibly, and sang monotonously, without shading but with strong
expression.

"The lass sings with conviction," remarked the same fop who sat behind
Aratoff,--and again he spoke the truth.

Shouts of "Bis!" "Bravo!" resounded all about, but she merely darted a
swift glance at Aratoff, who was neither shouting nor clapping,--he had
not been particularly pleased by her singing,--made a slight bow and
withdrew, without taking the arm of the hairy pianist which he had
crooked out like a cracknel. She was recalled ... but it was some time
before she made her appearance, advanced to the piano with the same
uncertain tread as before, and after whispering a couple of words to her
accompanist, who was obliged to get and place on the rack before him not
the music he had prepared but something else,--she began Tchaikovsky's
romance: "No, only he who hath felt the thirst of meeting".... This
romance she sang in a different way from the first--in an undertone, as
though she were weary ... and only in the line before the last, "He will
understand how I have suffered,"--did a ringing, burning cry burst from
her. The last line, "And how I suffer...." she almost whispered, sadly
prolonging the final word. This romance produced a slighter impression
on the audience than Glinka's; but there was a great deal of
applause.... Kupfer, in particular, distinguished himself: he brought
his hands together in a peculiar manner, in the form of a cask, when he
clapped, thereby producing a remarkably sonorous noise. The Princess
gave him a large, dishevelled bouquet, which he was to present to the
songstress; but the latter did not appear to perceive Kupfer's bowed
figure, and his hand outstretched with the bouquet, and she turned and
withdrew, again without waiting for the pianist, who had sprung to his
feet with still greater alacrity than before to escort her, and who,
being thus left in the lurch, shook his hair as Liszt himself, in all
probability, never shook his!

During the whole time she was singing Aratoff had been scanning Clara's
face. It seemed to him that her eyes, athwart her contracted lashes,
were again turned on him. But he was particularly struck by the
impassiveness of that face, that forehead, those brows, and only when
she uttered her passionate cry did he notice a row of white, closely-set
teeth gleaming warmly from between her barely parted lips. Kupfer
stepped up to him.

"Well