ace, never guessing in what a strange fashion
her spouse had introduced himself there.

He, meanwhile, was most comfortably and delightfully entertained. He had
met Eugenie, a most lovely creature, fair and slender, gay in shining
crimson silk and costly lace, with a white ribbon studded with pearls in
her hair. The Baron, too, was presented, a man of gentle and frank
disposition, but little older than his fiancee and seemingly well suited
to her.

The jovial host, almost too generous with his jests and stories, led the
conversation; refreshments were offered, which our traveler did not
refuse. Then some one opened the piano, upon which _Figaro_ was lying,
and Eugenie began to sing, to the Baron's accompaniment, Susanne's
passionate aria in the garden scene. The embarrassment which for a
moment made her bright color come and go, fled with the first notes from
her lips, and she sang as if inspired.

Mozart was evidently surprised. As she finished he went to her with
unaffected pleasure. "How can one praise you, dear child," he said.
"Such singing is like the sunshine, which praises itself best because it
does every one good. It is to the soul like a refreshing bath to a
child; he laughs, and wonders, and is content. Not every day, I assure
you, do we composers hear ourselves sung with such purity
and simplicity--with such perfection!" and he seized her hand
and kissed it heartily. Mozart's amiability and kindness, no less than
his high appreciation of her talent, touched Eugenie deeply, and her
eyes filled with tears of pleasure.

At that moment Madame Mozart entered, and immediately after appeared
other guests who had been expected--a family of distant relatives, of
whom one, Franziska, had been from childhood Eugenie's intimate friend.

When all the greetings and congratulations were over, Mozart seated
himself at the piano. He played a part of one of his concertos, which
Eugenie happened to be learning. It was a great delight to have the
artist and his genius so near--within one's own walls. The composition
was one of those brilliant ones in which pure Beauty, in a fit of
caprice, seems to have lent herself to the service of Elegance, but,
only half disguised in changing forms and dazzling lights, betrays in
every movement her own nobility and pours out lavishly her glorious
pathos.

The Countess noticed that most of the listeners, even Eugenie herself,
were divided between seeing and hearing, although they gav