The tones came out like the sound of a flute, high and pure; they rose in her throat, swelling it out as she sang, pouring through the arch of her lips without effort or strain.
"Bravo!" cried the Director, "Um Himmel's Willen, child, you have a voice like a lark rising in the meadows, and you sing--Bravo! Bravo!"
He put out his hands and took the girl's trembling ones into his own.
"You will take me?" she said, "You see, when I am not so nervous it will go better."
The Kapellmeister laughed and took a card out of his pocket: "Write your name here," he said, "Your real one. I won't tell--and your address."
Kaya drew back suddenly: "I live in the mill," she said, "You know, the Nonnen-Mühle by the promenade? You won't let any one know, will you, Monsieur, because--"
"Are you afraid of spies, child? Tut, the chorus can't hear. I won't tell a soul."
She looked away from him a moment; then she took the pencil and wrote on the card in small, running letters: "Marya Pulitsin."
Her eyes were clear and blue like a child's. "No," she said, "--no." And she glanced back over her shoulder with her finger to her lips.
"Never mind," said the Kapellmeister. "You are white, child, what are you afraid of? There are no spies here! Give me the card. That is a strange place to live in--the Nonnen-Mühle! I didn't know anyone lived there, excepting the old man who takes charge of the mill. Well, in a day or so--perhaps towards the end of the week you will hear from me." He waved to the chorus.
"Stand up, meine Herren, meine Damen!" he said, "Get your scores ready. Good-bye now, Fraulein.--Donnerwetter! What ails you?"
"If you want to try my voice again," said Kaya timidly, "Would you mind, sir, trying it to-day?--This afternoon, or even this evening?"
"Now by all that is holy, why, pray? I have the solos to-night, and this afternoon a rehearsal for 'Siegfried.'" The Kapellmeister frowned: "Do you think I have nothing on earth to do, child, but run after voices?"
"Oh!" cried Kaya, "I didn't mean that! I beg your pardon. It doesn't matter--I do beg your pardon, Herr Director." She flushed suddenly, and started away from him, as if to put the piano between them and flee towards the door.
He looked at her narrowly, and the harsh lines came back to his face. "A pest on these singers!" he muttered under his breath, "They are all alike--they want coddling. She thinks perhaps she is a Patti and is planning for her salary already. Potztausend! Bewahre!" He turned on his heel curtly and mounted the platform, taking up the baton.