Ignoring his protest, Willy sat himself comfortably on the window seat, opened a large envelope and took out the bound libretto of "Madame Butterfly". He handed it to Maria, without comment. She stared at it curiously, but made no move to open it until Willy motioned her to do so. She nodded with recognition at the title page, then as she riffled through succeeding pages, her expression changed from surprise to distaste. She tried to hand the libretto back to Willy, but instead of taking it, he drew her to the window seat beside him, and spoke to her as a father might speak to his daughter. By this time, Walther could understand a little of what Willy was saying and he could guess the rest of it. Maria's first reaction was to stare incredulously at Willy. As the full meaning of what he was asking became clear to her, she looked up at Walther. He saw scorn and anger in her dark eyes. When she looked back at Willy, it was to shake her head in emphatic refusal. Willy's tone became even more persuasive. He gazed out the window as he spoke, down at the river pouring over the weir and ducking under the old stone bridge. Maria rolled the libretto into a tight scroll. Her fingers showed white through her unpolished nails. Willy stopped abruptly. He looked older, tired. Maria remained silent, her lips compressed into a tight line. At last she answered him, in a voice that was tightly, coldly controlled. She stood up and walked toward the door. Walther held out his hand; she ignored it. He started after her, and Willy said, "Let her go." Willy looked so depressed that Walther felt a need to comfort him. "It's all right," he said. "We'll forget the whole idea." Willy shook his head. "She'll do it," he said wearily. "But...." "She'll do it because she thinks she owes it to me." Walther waited for the old maestro to continue. "As soon as we're through recording," Willy went on, pushing himself up from the window seat, "Maria wants to be released to another opera company." "I'll go see her right now," Walther began. "Not now," Willy interrupted. "She wouldn't have anything to do with you. She thinks your only interest has been this recording." * * * * * Willy started rehearsals early the next morning, in the big stone barn behind the inn. The structure's high roof and thick walls provided natural acoustics, while its location was far enough from Llangollen to avoid creating undue curiosity. Recording equipment had been set up along one side; around it, the orchestra was grouped. The center area was marked off for vocal rehearsals. Willy handled the direction himself, and not for a century had any director on Earth undertaken such a staggering task.