it, as it were, to the man to whom this cry of longing had been so dear.
Then, in memory of and gratitude to him, other religious songs which he
had liked to hear echoed from her lips.

The little German ballads which she afterward sang, to the delight of her
boys, deeply moved her husband's heart, and she herself found that it was
no insult to art when, with the voice that she now possessed, she again
devoted herself to the pleasure of singing.

If the codicil brought her son what she desired, she could once more, if
her voice lost the sharpness which still clung to it, serve her beloved
art as a not wholly unworthy priestess, and then, perchance, she would
again possess the right, so long relinquished, of calling herself happy.

She would go the next day to Appenzelder, who always greeted her kindly
when they met in the street, and ask his advice.

If only Wolf had been there!

He understood how to manage women's voices also, and could have given her
the best directions how to deal with the new singing exercises.

It seemed as though in these days not one of her wishes remained
unfulfilled, for the very next afternoon, just as she was dressing to
call upon the leader of the boy choir, the servant announced a stranger.

A glad presentiment hurried her into the vestibule, and there stood Sir
Wolf Hartschwert in person, an aristocratic cavalier in his black Spanish
court costume. He had become a man indeed, and his appearance did not
even lack the "sosiego," the calm dignity of the Castilian noble, which