oyd loved her at first, in those long years ago
when she was a girl, only she seems never to have been a girl, just as
you never can think of her being old.

Madame yawns presently, feels the lack of her _siesta_, and decides
that to be brilliant to-night she must have it. Excusing herself for a
few moments, she goes away, rather vexed that Violet should be so
inappreciative. After all, has the child anything much in her? Is it
worth while to expend any great interest upon her?

The dinner passes agreeably, and the carriage comes for them. The
professor has been discoursing upon Wagner and his musical theories,
but he will not have anything said about this particular opera. So
Violet takes her seat, with her husband on one side and the professor
on the other, and prepares herself to listen to that hidden mental
element that touches the inmost processes of the soul.

_Elsa_, in her blissful surprise, the mysterious enchantment convincing
her of reality, loving, adoring, trusting to the uttermost, and content
to live, to take love without asking herself from whence her lover
comes; to hold her happiness on so strong a tenure now because she
_does_ trust. Wide-eyed, exultant, Violet listens. Cannot her husband
read _her_ story in her eyes? The beautiful march enchants her. Again
she says to herself, Is this love? Though the way is straight and few
find it, some blest souls enter in.

And then the question forces itself upon Elsa's soul, it becomes its
deepest need, and in that evil hour she sets it above love. There is
the thrilling vision and _Lohengrin's_ rebuke, and Violet listens and
looks like one entranced. _Elsa_ asks her fateful question, and the
enchantment is gone. Ah, can any tears, any prayers bring him back? Can
all the divine passion and repentance of one's life prevail?

The lovely color goes out of Violet's face; it seems for a moment as if
she would faint. How can all these women keep from crying out in their
anguish?

"_Mignonne_," the professor says, softly, and takes her hand, "come out
of thy too passionate dream. That is the musician's soul, but it is not
daily food."

Her eyes are blind with tears, and she is glad to rise with the crowd
and go.

Gertrude Grandon's brief engagement is shortened by nearly a fortnight
on account of a literary meeting at Chicago that the professor must
attend. So Christmas day at two o'clock they go to church, Gertrude in
dark blue cloth, that is extremely beco