* * * * * "There was a young couple I knew twenty-five years ago. They were both artists. She was a pianist and he was a singer. He had the most beautiful voice I ever heard--and I have heard a lot of good voices. Her father was a rich merchant and had planned differently for his daughter, but she fell in love with Pedro and eloped with him. "At Boulogne they took a steamer for Havana and landed there penniless, absolutely penniless. Another piece of sugar, Don Pablo? non? Well, they landed penniless. But he had some friends there who bestirred themselves, and in ten days they had arranged the first concert in the largest hall of Havana. It was more than a success, it was a triumph. She acted as his accompanist. "That night they vowed one to another that he would never sing with another accompanist, and she would never play the accompaniments to another singer. "His voice and her playing pleased the Cubans so much the couple had to appear in concert several times a week. Money flowed in from all sides. The young wife sometimes longed for home and hers, she loved her people very much. But Pedro kissed away her worries--sang away her longings. They were very happy. "A manager got hold of them and pretty soon they had engagements from San Francisco all the way to New York. "When they arrived in San Francisco it was spring. Pedro had a slight cold, and went to see the doctor his manager recommended to him. It was the first time he had ever been out alone since they eloped from Madrid. She was too tired to accompany him. He had to return the next day, and the next, for treatment. "On the fourth day was the concert. A phenomenal success. Pedro sang better than ever. His wife sitting at the piano felt the envy of a thousand women. And she was proud of her Pedro. His voice rose and fell and rippled, and between the folds of sound were jewels of all colors. "Still, on the next day he went to see the doctor. When he returned he was irritable, quarrelsome, and refused to even go out with her. "She cried. What else can a woman do? He quieted her soon, and made her beg forgiveness. The reason for his irritability was, he said, the condition of his throat, as the doctor had explained it to him. It made her sit up the whole night. What if her Pedro should lose his golden voice? "The next morning she made herself ready to go with him to the doctor. It was an Italian who knew French well. She would try to get him to tell her the truth about her husband's voice. But Pedro insisted that she must remain home. She did not have proper street wear to conceal her state. He talked and talked until she gave in and remained home. "No sooner was he gone and she regretted to have let him go alone. Why! in a taxi she could be there without being much seen by any one!