forth defiance at her angry persecutors. Annette listened
breathlessly. In fancy, she too was ringing her voice out to an
applauding house. Her head unconsciously beat time to the music,
and one hand half held her cloak from her bare shoulders.

Then Eleazar appeared, and the house rose at the end of his song.
Encores it gave, and bravos and cheers. He bowed calmly, swept
his eyes over the tiers until they found Annette, where they
rested in a half-smile of recognition.

"Philip," gasped Annette, nervously raising her glasses, "my
fisherman!"

"Yes, an opera-singer is better than a marchand," drawled Philip.

The curtain fell on the first act. The house was won by the new
tenor; it called and recalled him before the curtain. Clearly he
had sung his way into the hearts of his audience at once.

"Papa, Aunt Nina," said Annette, "you must come behind the scenes
with me. I want you to meet him. He is delightful. You must
come."

Philip was bending ostentatiously over the girl in the next box.
Papa and Aunt Nina consented to be dragged behind the scenes.
Annette was well known, for, in hopes of some day being an
occupant of one of the dressing-rooms, she had made friends with
everyone connected with the opera.

Eleazar received them, still wearing his brown garb and