aron with a crafty smile, "that
he was coming to-day on a useless errand, and meant to apply to your
Majesty for the payment of his debts."

Here the Emperor interrupted him with an angry gesture; but Malfalconnet
went on soothingly: "However, there is nothing to be feared from lambs in
sheep's clothing. Just think, your Majesty, how warm they must be in
their double dress! No; he comes from the musicians, and apparently
brings an important message."

"Admit him, then," the Emperor commanded. A few minutes later Wolf stood
before the sovereign, and, in Appenzelder's name, informed him in a tone
of sincere regret, yet with a certain degree of reserve, that the
performance of the choir boys that day would leave much to be desired,
for two of the best singers had not yet recovered.

"But the substitute, the admirable substitute?" Charles impatiently
interrupted.

"That is just what troubles us," Wolf replied uneasily. "The magnificent
new voice wishes to desert the maestro to-night."

"Desert?" cried the Emperor angrily. "A choir boy in the service of her
Majesty the Queen of Hungary! So there is still something new under the
sun."

"Certainly," replied Wolf with a low bow, still striving, in obedience to
the regent's strict command, not to reveal the sex of the new member of
the choir. "And this case is especially unusual. This voice is not in her
Majesty's service. It belongs to a volunteer, as it were, a native of
this city, whose wonderful instrument and rare ability we discovered.
But, begging your Majesty's pardon, the soul of such an artist is a
strange thing, inflammable and enthusiastic, but just as easily wounded
and disheartened."

"The soul of a boy!" cried Charles contemptuously. "Appenzelder does not
look like a man who would permit such whims."

"Not in his choir, certainly," said the young nobleman. "But this
voice--allow me to repeat it--is not at his disposal. It was no easy
matter to obtain it at all, and, keenly as the maestro disapproves of the
caprices of this beautiful power, he can not force it--the power, I
mean--to the obedience which his boys----"

Here the Emperor laughed shrilly. "The power, the voice! The songstress,
you should say. This whimsical volunteer with the voice of an angel, who
is so tenderly treated by rough Appenzelder, is a woman, not a refractory
choir boy. How you are blushing! You have proved a very inapt pupil in
the art of dissimulation and disguise in my royal si