nce would open, wide-lipped, and success would flow from it!

"And I shall owe it all to you and Frieda, Dave," she said. "But I can't
really believe that it will come true. Still, I don't know. Sit down and
listen to this."

She opened the piano and sang, and at first my heart sank within me
because she was so great compared to my insignificance. Then it became
exalted because of the magnificence of her singing, which thrilled me.
They were not great locust-cries of _bravura_, nor amazing gymnastics
with difficult scales, that made me quiver. Just a sweet old melody
heard a thousand times, thrummed by every piano, but now coming with
such perfection of tone and such a quality of exquisiteness that I felt
a thousand times more uplifted than when I had stood before Gordon's
wonderful portrait of her.

When she finished, she turned a little on the revolving stool and looked
at me, her head a little inclined to one side, her lips smiling at me,
for she could not but know how splendidly she had sung.

"Well, Dave," she asked, "are you pleased?"

"My dear Frances," I answered, "a king of Bavaria had operas performed
for himself alone, and, likewise, I have had a treat that might have
enraptured thousands. I am a monarch basking in luxury. No, after all I
am the same old Dave who has found a treasure by the wayside and is
gloating over it. That's what I'm doing. If I knew anything about music,
I might, perhaps, tell you what it is that I find to admire in your
singing, but I can only say I am impressed by something that leaves me
wondering and gives me a keen delight I cannot put in words."

"I'm so glad, Dave!" she exclaimed. "I shall always sing to you as much
as you like. I am thankful to be able to give you pleasure."

Pleasure, forsooth! She can give me everything a man longs for in the
world! Sweetness, beauty, melody are all in her power of bestowal! But I
should be thankful for her affection and grateful for my privileges as a
trusted friend. May I never by any folly forfeit them!

And so the winter came again, and the amenities of the holidays and some
joyous little dinners with Frieda. I went one day to call on Richetti,
and the _maestro_ threw himself upon me and clasped me in his arms.

"_Amico carissimo!_ It is a delight to see you! Everywhere I hear of you
as an author _pregiatissimo_, but you go not out into the world where
thousands are dying to know you! About _la signora_! What shall I say!
It was a