uld dare to speak of
degrading him to your level!"

Kernadi listened to these words in profound astonishment. Princes had
bowed at her feet, blood-royal had watched for her smile. Who was this
ancient creature, with her scarf and bag? Perhaps, poor thing! she did
not comprehend! The diva was not bad-hearted, and so, gently enough, she
went over her offer a second time, dwelling upon and explaining its
advantages. "That he will succeed, I do not doubt," she said; "but in
any case he shall not want."

Miss Elisabetha was still standing.

"Want?" she repeated; "Theodore want? I should think not."

"He shall have the best instructors," pursued Kernadi, all unheeding. To
do her justice, she meant all she said. It is ever a fancy of singers to
discover singers--provided they sing other _roles_.

"Madame, I have the honor of instructing him myself."

"Ah, indeed. Very kind of you, I am sure; but--but no doubt you will be
glad to give up the task. And he shall see all the great cities of
Europe, and hear their music. I am down here merely for a short
change--having taken cold in your miserable New York climate; but I have
my usual engagements in London, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and Paris, you
know."

"No, madame, I do not know," was the stiff reply.

Kernadi opened her fine eyes still wider. It was true, then, and not a
pretense. People really lived--white people, too--who knew nothing of
her and her movements! She thought, in her vague way, that she really
must give something to the missionaries; and then she went back to Doro.

"It will be a great advantage to him to see artist-life abroad--" she
began.

"I intend him to see it," replied Miss Elisabetha.

"But he should have the right companions--advisers--"

"_I_ shall be with him, madame."

The diva surveyed the figure before her, and amusement shone in her
eyes.

"But you will find it fatiguing," she said--"so much journeying, so much
change! Nay, ma'm'selle, remain at home in your peaceful quiet, and
trust the boy to me." She had sunk back upon her cushions, and, catching
a glimpse of her face in the mirror, she added, smiling: "One thing
more. You need not fear lest I should trifle with his young heart. I
assure you I will not; I shall be to him like a sister."

"You could scarcely be anything else, unless it was an aunt," replied
the ancient maiden; "I should judge you fifteen years his senior,
madame."

Which was so nearly accurate that the beauty s