moved across the field of her vision. Tristan fell, and Easter awoke with a start. Where has that little wretch Stone gone? The sneak, she thought. Withdrawing her arm she stood up with a sigh of delight satisfied. The lights were now on. The small but select band of invited guests, were shaking hands with dear Maurice Grau, and she wondered who was the affable little bald-headed man. Ulick quizzically took her in. He hesitated: "Come," he finally said, "come with me. I'll introduce you to my beloved friend, grand woman and artiste, Madame Lehmann. She may be of use to you in the future." For the first time Easter felt as if he were really a friend. Her chilly reserve couldn't withstand such an invitation. Lilli Lehmann! And perhaps--Oh! if it would only come true--Jean de Reszke. As she was conducted upstairs through resounding corridors, her dreams went on wings to the glorious night when she, Esther Brandès, would hold an audience spellbound by the imperious magic of her art. Flushed, her nature sending out warm rays of happiness, Ulick was so carried away that he put his arm around her waist and cried: "You adorable girl...." She it was who knocked at the dressing-room door for admittance. "Komm," was uttered by a deep voice within. The youthful pair entered.... On the way to the Maison Felicé she complained of hunger. "It's the emotions of a first Tristan," he told her. "Wagner exhausts one's soul and stomach. As for Tristan--oh! Tristan is a regular tapeworm. I always feel like a spaghetti dinner at Moretti's with gallons of vichy." She looked down at him, he was standing in the street, she on the sidewalk. His eyes were blazing blue. She had realized their blueness even in the dark of the auditorium. The glance-motive sounded in their personal music-drama. And, as he said to himself, with what a prelude! Almost tragic. She still gazed at him. Ulick felt his being expand. This girl was dangerous. She was different. He knew he must love her and he trembled at her hungry eyes. "Let's go to your Moretti's," she exclaimed. "I'm starving." "So am I--for another touch of your hand," he interposed. "Let's go to your Moretti's," she stubbornly repeated, "and if you wish to keep on good terms with me pray don't call me Miss Richmond, or--'your adorable girl'...." He only ejaculated, "Christ!" III