fame. Of all the audience, only one felt indignant, and that was the
student Claudius, who had not heard her sing or wear stage costumes!

"All is over," observed Daniels placidly. "I cannot cope with these
rogues. I must go and join my daughter and get our dresses to our
lodgings; thankful if we succeed so far. In about an hour, will you not
call, when we will resume our conversation which I wish to have, and
with practical gain to you. This is the card of our hotel. It is not
aristocratic, but once there, you will be safe."

He spoke with such tranquil assurance that Claudius had not a doubt. He
took the card, read the address: "Hotel Persepolitan," so that if he
lost the card, it might be in his mind, and nodded with a kind of
gratefulness. The father of a beautiful woman is not like any other man
in the world to a young man, who is not indifferent to her.

Following the old Jew with his gaze to the narrow side-door leading to
behind-the-scenes, Claudius thought that, in the brief period of its
opening and closing, he spied the bright black orbs of the Jewess
striving to catch a glimpse even so transient of him. It did not need
this encouragement to make him resolve to respond to the invitation.

An hour would soon pass, even in this tedious recreation. He felt also
some resentment and curiosity to see the person whom the director of
these Munich circeans considered in adequate succession to the peerless
Stamboulane. The announcement had at least kindled the public: being
plebeian, the promised aristocrat was already discussed. The family was
existent, whether this variety vocalist was legitimately a daughter
being another question. Vieradlers was a barony that had a right to fly
its four eagles--as the name signifies--in the face of the double-headed