wer.

This was against the rules. No pupil was allowed to correct himself. He
must have it right the first time. She was greatly frightened, and
thought she had made a failure. She was so earnest and anxious over it,
and moreover she was a girl, the first girl on the violin ever admitted
to the Conservatory, and with a smile and a word of encouragement the
jury forgave her and accepted her answer. The third question was quickly
answered and the great trial was successfully finished. This trial of
skill, or examination as we should call it, lasted several days. One day
she was examined in harmony. The singing came another day, the violin
concerto another, and the playing at sight in a string quartette on
still another. The poor girl was quite worn out and thankful that the
summer vacation came soon after. At our Conservatories and music schools
the pupils take the vacation as a time of rest and enjoyment. They say
it is too hot to work. It is quite as warm in Paris, and Camilla was as
weary as ever they could be at such a time. Still she rose with the sun,
practiced all the forenoon with her father, went to Massart's house
three times a week, and with the exception of the hours spent at the
Conservatory, her time passed exactly as if there was no vacation at
all. Work, work, work, all the time. Just enough exercise to keep her in
good health. Only a little play, now and then. Hours and hours of
practice day after day. Such was her life. A great and splendid reward
was in view. By and by she would win every thing. When her day of
success came she could rest and enjoy herself. Could she? Did she ever
rest? We shall see.

CHAPTER VI.

THE ROSE OF MONTHOLON.

The last year at the Conservatory was drawing to an end. It was early
summer and Camilla was just ten years old. The long and difficult course
of study that many a boy was proud to finish when he was nineteen, was
almost over before she had entered her teens. She was paler and thinner
than ever and felt glad the warm weather had come, for really, her frock
was not thick enough for comfort. That terrible wolf had again howled in
the dark echoing entry way of the house on the Rue Lamartine. The goodly
pile of francs she had won on the German tour had melted wholly away.
Mother had taken up that dreary embroidery again. There were four boys
to be clothed and fed now, and Salvatore Urso found it hard work to get
along.

Camilla absorbed in her music hardly kne