, Leone thought, could be more natural. His letters from Rome
were not so frequent or so long; but that was no matter; he had less
time, perhaps; and being with his parents not so much opportunity.

Her faith in him never lessened, never faltered, never wavered.

True, she wondered at times why he had gone to his parents, why he had
joined them after the cruel way in which they had behaved. She could not
quite understand.

It seemed to her at times almost disrespect to her that he should
associate with them until they had apologized to her, and made amends
for the wrong done; but then, she said to herself, he knew best; all he
did was well done, and there was nothing to fear.

Then May came--so short the time was growing. Everything he had spoken
of was here--the green leaves, the singing birds, the soaring lark, the
cooing wood-pigeon. Only a few more weeks now, and the girl grew more
beautiful every day as her hope grew nearer its fulfillment.

She was much struck by a conversation she had one day with Signor Corli,
her singing-master. She had sung, to his intense delight and
satisfaction, one of the most difficult and beautiful cavatinas from
"Der Freischutz," and he marveled at her wonderful voice and execution.

"It is ten thousand pities," he said, "that you have a position which
forbids you to think of the stage."

She laughed at the time.

"The stage?" she repeated. "Why, signor?"

"Because you have the genius which would make you the finest dramatic
singer in the world," he replied; "you would be the very queen of song.
I repeat it--it is ten thousand pities you have been placed in such a
position the stage could never attract you."

"No, it certainly will not," she said. "But do you think I have really
talent for it, signor?"

"No, not talent," he replied, "but genius. Once in every hundred years
such a one is given to the world. If you went on the stage I venture to
prophesy you would drive the world mad."

She laughed.

"It is just as well, then, that the world is saved from madness," she
said.

"It is not well for the world of art," said Signor Corli.

She smiled after he was gone, half flattered by his words, yet half
amazed. Could what he said be true? Was this dramatic power, as he
called it, the power she had felt within herself which made her
different to others? Then she laughed again. What did it matter to
her--her life would be spent under the shelter of her husband's
love--the hu