"No, I want nothing; I am only thinking that it is very troublesome the person who sent those fruits could not come instead of them. I ought to have kept it from you, child as you are." "Child, indeed! why, what are you yourself?" "Young, very young," she replied, with some passion in her voice; "but so much older than you are in every sense. I never remember when I did not feel I had lived a long time." I was struck by these words, for they often returned upon me afterwards, and I rose to go, feeling something disturbed at having wearied her; for she had not the same fresh bloom and unfatigued brightness as when I entered. She did not detain me, though she said, "Call me Maria, please; I should like it best,--we are both so young, you know! We might have been brother and sister." And in this graceful mood my memory carried her away. CHAPTER III. I need not say I looked upon Anastase with very different eyes next time I crossed his path. He had never so much interested me; he had never attracted me before,--he attracted me violently now, but not for his own sake. I watched every movement and gesture,--every intimation of his being, separable from his musical nature and dissociated from his playing. He seemed to think me very inattentive on the Monday morning, though, in fact, I had never been so attentive to him before; but I did not get on very well with my work. At last he fairly stopped me, and touched my chin with his bow. "What are you thinking about this morning, sir?" he inquired, in that easy voice of his, with that cool air. I never told a lie in my life, white or black. "Of you, sir," I replied. With his large eyes on mine, I felt rather scorched, but still I kept faith with myself. "Of the Fräulein Cerinthia." "I thought as much. The next Sunday you will remain at home." "Yes, sir; but that won't prevent my thinking about you and her." "Exactly; you shall therefore have sufficient time to think about us. As you have not control enough to fasten your mind on your own affairs, we must indulge your weakness by giving it plenty of room." Then he pointed to my page with his bow, and we went on quietly. I need not say we were alone. After my lesson, just before he proceeded to the next violin, he spoke again. "You do not know, perhaps, what test you are about to endure. We shall have a concert next month, and you will play a first violin with me." "Sir!" I gasped, "I cannot--I never will!" "Perhaps you will change your note when you are aware who appointed you. It is no affair of mine." "If you mean, sir, that it is the Chevalier who appointed me, I don't believe it, unless you gave your sanction."