fuel even to cook things; but as
there was nothing to cook, it really made no difference. Spring was
coming--it was cold, to be sure, but the buds were swelling on the trees
in the park. Verdi had seen them with his own eyes, and he hastened home
to tell his wife--Spring was coming!

The two-year-old boy didn't seem to thrive on soup-bones. The father
used to hold him in his arms at night to warm the little form against
his own body. He awoke one morning to find the child cold and stiff. The
boy was dead.

The mother used to lie abed all day now. She wasn't ill she said--just
tired! She never looked so beautiful to her husband. Two bright pink
spots marked her cheeks, and set off the alabaster of her complexion.
Her eyes glowed with such a light as Verdi had never before seen. No,
she was not ill--she protested this again and again. She kept to her bed
merely to be warm; and then if one didn't move around much, less food
was required--don't you see?

Spring had come. The opera was being rehearsed. The title of the play
was "Un Giorno di Regno." Merelli said he thought it would be a success;
Verdi was sure of it.

The night of presentation came. After the first act Verdi ran across the
street, leaped up the stairs three steps at a time, and reached the
garret. The play was a success. The worn woman there on her pallet, the
pale moonlight streaming in on her face, knew it would be. She raised
herself on her elbow and tried to call, "Viva Verdi!" But the cough cut
her words short. Verdi kissed her forehead, her hands, her hair, and
hurried back in time to see the curtain ascend on the second act. This
act went without either applause or disapproval. Verdi ran home to say
that the audience was a trifle critical, but the play was all right--it
was a success! He said he would remain at home now, he would not go to
hear the third and last act. He would attend his wife until she got well
and strong. The play was a success!

She prevailed upon him to leave her and then come back at the finale and
tell her all about it.

He went away.

When he returned he stumbled up the stairway and slowly entered the
door.

The last act had not been completed--the audience had hissed the players
from the stage!

Upon the ashen face of her husband, the stricken woman read all. She
tried to smile. She reached out one thin hand on which loosely hung a
marriage-ring. The hand dropped before he could reach it. The eyes of
the woman were