dancer, Hugh Krayne was welcomed as a member of the Präger Bavarian
Sextette company. Forgetting the future he had arranged for Rösie, he
began his vocal lessons immediately.

In July he sang for the first time in public at Eger. He was extremely
frightened, but as it was only a duo he managed fairly well. Then he
sang at Tepl, this time alone. His voice broke badly in the yodel and he
was jeered by a rude audience. He had grown very much thinner. His
doctor warned him against continuing the waters, and advised rice,
potatoes, and ale, but he did not listen. He now paid the bills of the
company while travelling. Rösie had confessed with tears that they were
fearfully poor. From that time he handed her his purse. He even placated
the jealous dancer with a gold watch and a box of hair pomade. Ah! how
he loathed the fellow's curly locks, his greasy familiarities! Rösie
told him this acrobat was necessary in the company until he could be
replaced. Already Hugh--she called him "Ü"--could yodel better. Some day
he might, when thinner, dance better. Perhaps--again that appealing
glance, the corner of her lips faintly touched by the mysterious smile
of a Monna Lisa. Krayne redoubled his arduous training, practised
yodling in the forests, danced jigs on the pine-needles, and doubled his
allowance of the waters.

They went to Carlsbad. He yodled. He was applauded. The dancer was in a
fine rage. Although Krayne had asked Rösie to buy a first-class
compartment on the railroad trip over and back, they went in a
third-class car. Präger declared that it was good enough for him, and he
didn't wish to spoil his troupe! His wife now held the purse-strings, as
Rösie was too engrossed with her art and Hugh too absorbed in his love
to notice such mere sublunary matters. The girl had promised nothing
positive for the future. She kept him on the brittle edge of nervous