ns and orchards. Our destination was the little
suburb of Gruenewald, itself like a big garden, with villas nestling
close to each other, usually set back from the quiet, shaded streets.
Some of the villas had iron gratings along the pathway, through which
one saw gay flowers and garden walks, often statuary and fountains.
Other homes were secluded from the street by high brick walls,
frequently decorated on top by urns holding flowers and drooping vines.

Behind such a picturesque barrier, we found the gateway which led to
Mme. Lehmann's cottage. We rang and soon a trim maid came to undo the
iron gate. The few steps leading to the house door did not face us as we
entered the inclosure, but led up from the side. We wanted to linger and
admire the shrubs and flowering plants, but the maid hastened before us
so we had to follow.

From the wide entrance hall doors led into rooms on either hand. We were
shown into a salon on the left, and bidden to await Madame's coming.

In the few moments of restful quiet before she entered, we had time to
glance over this sanctum of a great artist. To say it was filled with
mementos and _objets d'art_ hardly expresses the sense of repleteness.
Every square foot was occupied by some treasure. Let the eye travel
around the room. At the left, as one entered the doorway, stood a fine
bust of the artist, chiseled in pure white marble, supported on a
pedestal of black marble. Then came three long, French windows, opening
into a green garden. Across the farther window stood a grand piano,
loaded with music. At the further end of the room, if memory serves,
hung a large, full length portrait of the artist herself. A writing
desk, laden with souvenirs, stood near. On the opposite side a divan
covered with rich brocade; more paintings on the walls, one very large
landscape by a celebrated German painter.

Before we could note further details, Mme. Lehmann stood in the doorway,
then came forward and greeted us cordially.

How often I had seen her impersonate her great roles, both in Germany
and America. They were always of some queenly character. Could it be
possible this was the famous Lehmann, this simple housewife, in black
skirt and white blouse, with a little apron as badge of home keeping.
But there was the stately tread, the grand manner, the graceful
movement. What mattered if the silver hair were drawn back severely from
the face; there was the dignity of expression, classic features,