"Oh! well, let him come," said the beautiful singer, with a smile; "I can
never refuse children."

Little Pierre came in, his hat under his arm, and in his hand a little roll
of paper. With manliness unusual for a child, he walked straight to the
lady, and bowing said, "I came to see you because my mother is very sick,
and we are too poor to get food and medicine. I thought that, perhaps, if
you would only sing my little song at some of your grand concerts, may be
some publisher would buy it for a small sum, and so I could get food and
medicine for my mother."

The beautiful woman rose from her seat; very tall and stately she was; she
took the little roll from his hand, and lightly hummed the air.

"Did you compose it?" she asked,--"you, a child! And the words? Would you
like to come to my concert?" she asked, after a few moments of thought.

"Oh, yes!" and the boy's eyes grew bright with happiness; "but I couldn't
leave my mother."

"I will send somebody to take care of your mother for the evening; and here
is a crown, with which you may go and get food and medicine. Here is also
one of my tickets; come to-night; that will admit you to a seat near me."

Almost beside himself with joy, Pierre bought some oranges, and many a
little luxury besides, and carried them home to the poor invalid, telling
her, not without tears, of his good fortune.

* * * * *