Presently the symphony rehearsal came to an end, and, without the slightest hint of affectation, she rose from her seat, smiled her adieus, and went to the stage. Selecting a violin from its blue satin wrappings, she threw a white silk handkerchief over her left shoulder, tuned her violin, and took her place at the front of the stage in the centre of the orchestra. Tall Carl Zerrahn on his stand seems particularly giantesque beside such a little lady, and he pushed the platform on one side and stood upon the stage, to be nearer to her. She gave nods of recognition to members of the orchestra, shook hands with Zerrahn, smiled and talked merrily with the leading violin, and then explained something concerning the music to Zerrahn. With her bow she gave the time, and the opening prelude began. She adjusted her handkerchief to her shoulder, and with a light touch played snatches of the orchestral part, as if to give a hint as to its proper rendering. Now comes the solo. The accompaniment is hushed, that not a note of the golden Mozartian melody be lost. Of her performance we will not here speak in detail, as it is described a page or two further on. Our present concern is with Madam Urso as a woman at home in her art, and among friends. Suddenly, in the midst of a brilliant passage, she stops, and lifting one finger she says, so that all can hear: “F natural.” The first violins are caught napping, and without a book, and while playing her own part, she detects and corrects a mistake of a semitone in the accompaniment. There is no self-assertion or parade, but only an arch smile and a merry shake of the head, as if it was a good joke to catch them thus. A hearty laugh from orchestra and audience, and then the work is resumed. As the piece returns, she nods and smiles her approval, and the music goes on again. At the end of the movement comes a long _cadenza_ of great difficulty. She treats it in that masterly and effective manner that seems so natural to her. Then follows a liberal round of applause from orchestra and spectators. Next comes the _andante_ movement, the most beautiful of the three. During the brief interval between the two she talks merrily with one and another, and when she is ready gives the time to the conductor. Zerrahn wields the _baton_, but Madam Urso is the real director. Her spirit guides the music and inspires the orchestra with unusual animation. The rather listless manner in the symphony is exchanged for painstaking care and attention. Camilla’s earnestness and life seems to inspire them to greater effort, and their playing gains in vigor and precision. “Not too much fire, gentlemen.” This is the slow movement, and she gently represses their enthusiasm. The feather like touch, the airy delicacy of her own playing, spurs them on to unwonted care and restraint. At the end comes another long _cadenza_, that for soft, whispering tones, sweetness, grace, and vanishing lightness, is almost unequaled. Her face becomes serious.