y ill. We had been going through
the solo soprano parts of the "Paradise Lost." I believe I sung vilely
that morning. I was not thinking of Eva's sin and the serpent, but of
other things, which, despite the story related in the Book of Genesis,
touched me more nearly. Several times already had he made me sing
through Eva's stammering answer to her God's question:

"Ah, Lord!... The Serpent!
The beautiful, glittering Serpent,
With his beautiful, glittering words,
He, Lord, did lead astray
The weak Woman!"

"Bah!" exclaimed von Francius, when I had sung it some three or four
times, each time worse, each time more distractedly. He flung the music
upon the floor, and his eyes flashed, startling me from my uneasy
thoughts back to the present. He was looking at me with a dark cloud
upon his face. I stared, stooped meekly, and picked up the music.

"Fraeulein, what are you dreaming about?" he asked, impatiently. "You are
not singing Eva's shame and dawning terror as she feels herself undone.
You are singing--and badly, too--a mere sentimental song, such as any
school-girl might stumble through. I am ashamed of you."

"I--I," stammered I, crimsoning, and ashamed for myself too.

"You were thinking of something else," he said, his brow clearing a
little. "_Na!_ it comes so sometimes. Something has happened to distract
your attention. The amiable Miss Hallam has been a little _more_ amiable
than usual."

"No."

"Well, well. _'S ist mir egal._ But now, as you have wasted half an hour
in vanity and vexation, will you be good enough to let your thoughts
return here to me and to your duty? or else--I must go, and leave the
lesson till you are in the right voice again."

"I am all right--try me," said I, my pride rising in arms as I thought
of Courvoisier's behavior a short time ago.

"Very well. Now. You are Eva, please remember, the first woman, and you
have gone wrong. Think of who is questioning you, and--"

"Oh, yes, yes, I know. Please begin."

He began the accompaniment, and I sung for the fifth time Eva's
scattered notes of shame and excuse.

"Brava!" said he, when I had finished, and I was the more startled as he
had never before given me the faintest sign of approval, but had found
such constant fault with me that I usually had a fit of weeping after my
lesson; weeping with rage and disappointment at my own shortcomings.

"At last you know what it means," said he. "I always told you