llowed; when she turned homeward she faced
Herr Albert, the famous Wagnerian tenor.

She felt a little shocked, but her placidity was too deep-rooted to be
altogether destroyed. And so Albert found himself looking into two large
eyes the persistency of whose gaze disconcerted him.

"Ach, Fraeulein Hilda, I'm so glad. How are you, and when did you
return?"

She had a central grip on herself, and regarded him quite steadily.

He noticed it and became abashed--he, the hero of a hundred footlights.
He could not face her pure, threatening eyes.

"Herr Albert, we got back last night. Herr Albert, why did you kiss me
in the theatre?"

He looked startled and reddened.

"Because I love you, Hilda. Yes, I did it because I love you," he
replied, and his accents were embarrassed.

"You love me, Herr Albert," pursued the terrible Hilda. "Yet you were
kissed by mamma an hour later. Do you love her too?"

The tenor trembled and said nothing....

The girl insisted:

"Do you love mamma too? You must, for she kissed you and you did not
move away."

Albert was plainly nervous.

"Yes, I love your mamma, too, but in a different way. Oh, dearest Hilda,
you don't understand. I am the artistic associate of your mother. But I
love--I love you."

Hilda felt the ground grow billowy; the day seemed supernaturally
bright. She took Albert's arm and they walked slowly, without a word.

When the hotel was reached she motioned him not to come in, and she flew
to her mother's room. The singer was alone. She sat at the window and in
her lap was a photograph. She looked old and soul-weary.

Hilda rushed toward her, but stopped in the middle of the room,
overcome by some subtle fear that seized her throat and limb.

Madame Stock looked at her wonderingly.

"Hilda, Hilda, have you gone mad?"

Hilda went over to her and put her arms about her and whispered:

"Oh, mamma, mamma, he loves me; he has just told me so."

Her mother started:

"He! Who loves you, Hilda? What do you mean?"

Hilda's eyes drooped, and then she saw the photograph in the soprano's
hand.

It was Albert's....

"I love him--you have his picture--he gave it to you for me? Oh! he has
spoken, Dearest, he has spoken."

The picture dropped to the floor....

"Mamma, mamma, what is the matter? Are you angry at me? Do you dislike
Albert? No, surely no; I saw you kiss him at the theatre. He says that
he loves you, but it is a different love. It must be a Siegmund