when, in the room beneath me, I suddenly heard that fateful piano, which I had so often cursed, sound again, and so loudly that I knew the lower balcony door must also be open. In my vexation I at first closed mine; but after listening a moment or two, I reopened the door and stepped outside, in order not to lose the slightest tone. The ten fingers playing Bach's Prelude on the little piano below me belonged to no Englishwoman. Late last evening new guests had moved in--so the chambermaid had announced--a French man and woman, brother and sister. Which of the two was then playing I naturally did not know. But from the touch, although it was firm and strong when necessary, I decided upon the sister. I have seldom heard such beautiful, distinct, and, as it were, mature playing; yet it had no trace of so-called classic objectivity, but rather a very personal charm, as if the player's deepest nature were speaking to me. I would have wagered my head that the musician was a brunette, with those gray eyes which Spaniards call 'green.' I know it is folly; but it is not the only one of which you will find me guilty, and it had not less power over me because a sound human intelligence might resist it.

"You know that Gounod composed a violin accompaniment for this Prelude. The purists and Bach-pedants reject it. But it has such an irresistible melody that every violinist learns it by heart. It was not long before I had taken my instrument from its case, tuned it sufficiently, and placed the bow in position. And then began a most wonderful duet on two floors, played with as much calmness and precision as if it had been well practised. There was not the slightest hesitation; my violin was never in better condition, and the little piano rang as full and soft as if it had been changed over night into a powerful concert grand.

"After we finished there came a pause, and I wondered with some trepidation if another approach than that of sounds would be proper. I stepped out on the balcony, hoping that the player would appear on the terrace. But a new piece which she began drew me forthwith back into the room. This time it was a Chopin Impromptu which I knew perfectly. Since I had been unable to play much, I had read an unlimited quantity of music, and my memory was very well trained.

"Again seizing my bow, I attempted a modest accompaniment to the somewhat quaint, but passionately musical, confession. Then came something from Schumann, and so on ad infinitum. I believe we played three full hours at one stretch. When my wife finally returned--it was the second breakfast--hour she found me much overheated, and bathed in perspiration.

"She even listened to the last bars of a Beethoven sonata, to which I was playing the treble. 'What duet have you arranged for yourself?' she asked, smiling, and when I told her that I knew the pianist as little as she did, she laughed outright. 'I did not bring the violin in vain, after all, and if I sketch chestnut-trees by the hour, I shall know that you are busy and happy.'

"I attempted to reply somewhat jokingly, but made a miserable failure. The music had moved me exceedingly; and, although I never believed in presentiments, I was unable to shake off a premonition of something unusual and uncanny. I longed to remain away from dinner, but felt ashamed of such a boyish feeling. But my shyness about making the player's acquaintance was unnecessary. She did not appear at table; so we met only her brother, a slender, serious young Frenchman, whose hair and complexion at once proclaimed his southern origin. In fact, we learned later that his home was at Arles. His father had been an Alsacian from an old German family, a merchant, who, conducting a branch business in that city of beautiful women, had finally lost his heart to the most charming one. He had afterward settled there and founded a great banking-house, that the son, who was inclined toward a diplomatic career, might find the way easily open to him. Both parents had died recently, and the son was still in mourning for them; but he seemed either very reserved for his age, or oppressed by some secret trouble, so that, beyond a few courteous words of greeting, we heard little from him. His sister, after whom my wife immediately inquired, was still tired from the journey, and also from the music, he added, with a side glance at me. Her physician had forbidden her to play, but she could not refrain from it. In the register, which was brought to him after dinner, he wrote a simple, commonplace name, but beneath it that of his sister--Countess So-and-so.

"So she was married, and perhaps we should meet her husband also. I do not know why this thought affected me unpleasantly, since I had never yet seen the lady herself. I awaited the evening in strange suspense. On entering the dining-room we saw the brother and sister seated directly opposite us. I was not in the least surprised. The young woman appeared precisely as I had imagined; beautiful dark hair, slightly curly, and bound in a simple knot at the back of her head; a face far from regular, but charming for its pale ivory-color and beautiful teeth; and, truly, gray eyes, the iris inclosed with a dark ring and shot through with golden lights, exactly as I had fancied from her playing.

"She talked little, addressing herself only to my wife when she did speak. It was nothing new to me to see that the latter could at once attract even this shy and reserved heart.

"After dinner, when we went out into the garden, over which the stars were twinkling, it was not long before I observed the two sitting together absorbed in earnest conversation. One could hardly have imagined anything lovelier than this pair, so unlike, yet so truly equal in charm and nobility of appearance and manner. They were nearly the same size, although my wife was stately and well-developed, while the stranger was girlishly slight; but her arms and neck, which I saw later in lighter clothing, were perfectly rounded, and resembled those of some Arabian women whose pictures I had seen in a friend's sketch-book. The brother had withdrawn; I walked to and fro on the lower part of the terrace, smoking my cigar, gazing absent-mindedly over the shimmering lake, and now and then hearing a detached word from the conversation of the women. The child was sleeping quietly upstairs, for she was put to bed every evening before we went to dinner.

"'She is extremely charming,' my wife afterwards said to me, 'but even more unhappy than she is beautiful and lovable. She has been separated for two years from her husband, who is a mauvais sujet, a gambler and spendthrift, who has already wasted her whole dowry. When she realized that she had married a worthless man, she insisted upon returning to her parents. So you may imagine that when her mother and father both died, it was much harder for her to bear than for many other loving daughters, who find comfort in their husbands. She is now living with her brother, but, although he adores her, she cannot have him with her forever. Sometime she will be entirely alone and dependent on herself, and, since she is a Catholic and cannot release herself from her hateful tie, she looks forward to a hopeless future. When I showed active sympathy because of her mourning, she told me all this without the least sentimentality, and with the calmness of a strong soul. But when she mentioned that the Count occasionally came to see her to extort money, although he no longer has the slightest claim on her property, her voice trembled, the mere thought of the villain is so repulsive to her. Her health has suffered under all these emotions. I promised to care for and pet her like a loving sister, and you should have heard how prettily she laughed. The poor young woman! I am much pleased that your violin travelled with us. She said your playing seemed so sympathetic.'

"She never wearied of talking about her new friend. I