upport itself.
At once these troubles were forgotten. Now was to come the duet with
the prima donna.

No timidity restrained her now. She felt, at the moment, that her own
voice was of worth only as it harmonized with the leading one. She
forgot herself when she thought of that wonderful voice, when once she
found her own mingled in its wonderful tones. Now she was supported by
it through the whole piece; her own was subdued by it, and at last she
felt herself inspired by it; it was no longer herself singing; she
was carried away by the power of another, and lifted above herself.

All applauded the magnificent music and harmony; the _bravo_ of Franz
was for Marie alone.

At this time my interest was absorbed in my observation of the prima
donna. I had perceived at first how indifferently she had entered upon
the spirit of the music. Her companion had filled her mind with the
meaning of its composer, and was striving to infuse into herself the
interpretation that the prima donna would give to its glorious
strains.

But the soul of the prima donna was away. It was in a
heavily-curtained room, where there were luxury and elegance. Here she
had all day been watching by the bedside of her sick child. She had
collected round it everything that money could bring to soothe its
sufferings. There were flowers in the greatest profusion; these were
trophies of her last night's success; and on the table by the bedside
she had heaped up her brilliant, gorgeous jewels, for their varied and
glowing colors had served to amuse the child for a few minutes. She
had sung to him music, that crowds would have collected to hear, had
they been allowed. Only to soothe him, all the golden tones of her
voice had poured out--now dropping in thrilling, sad melody, now in
glad, happy, childish strains.

Nothing through the day could put to rest that one appeal, which now
was echoing in her ears: "Will nothing cool my throat!--my head
burns!--only a few drops of water!" Over all the tones of the
orchestra these words sounded and thrilled so in her ears, that only
mechanically could the prima donna repeat the tones that were
thrilling all the hearts to which they came.

At last the power of her own voice conquered herself, too. In the
closing cadences--in those chords, triumphant and faith-bringing--for
the moment her own sorrows melted away, and the thought of herself was
lost in the inspiration of the grand, majestic intonations to which
she