The record-union. [volume] (Sacramento, Calif.) 1891-1903, 1898-01-14

lily increasing. Offenbach, Lecoque and
Strauss was the kind of music he had
heard her play before, and he had
thought that such was the reflection Of
her own SELF that she knew no other.
He had never dreamed of her playing
Beethoven, least of all that magnificent,
soulful adagio movement. And how
perfectly she was rendering it! She put
her heart and soul into it. But, there,
to think of heart and soul in connec-
ton with her was too foolish! Like
everything she did, her rendering of
Beethoven was, he tried to persuade
himself, trickery. She was a clever act
resS-tnat was all-in music as in ev-
erything else. She had already enslav-
ed him with her beauty, her vivacity,
and now she was using music merely
for the purpose of enchanting him more
thoroughly, if that were possible, and
it was all done to crafty her love of
power. 1t was cool calculation and
nothing more, for she had no heart.
The very idea was ridiculous. She was
only a dangerous siren.
Still he listened with bated breath,
and, as the twilight deepened into dark
ACoc, Inc Spen grew IIOIe anu
powerful. Would he ever see her again
Not likely; but, even if it should hap
pen, he would never allow any decara-
alton of love to pass his lips, not if his
heart should burst; for if he should so
far lose control over himself she would
be sure to laugh at him, as she laugh
ed at everything and everybody serious.
He had come to bid her good by, and
he had to confess to himself that he
had softened almost to the point of de-
claring his love. But just at that mo-
ment she had laughed at him and had
looked moc5ingly at him with her beau
tiful gray eyes
Really, are you going to leave me-?
Are you sure that it is no mere speech
for effect? How nice it will be for you,
won't it?"
AT which he had regained mastery
over himseiS-and then they had laugh
ed together, as they always did when he
called. They had never exchanged a
serious word; he joked and she ioked
and by the time that he was strolling
along the boulevards in Paris she would
have almost forgotten him, while to him
she would be only a remembrance
beautiful remembrance, as Otto Bis
marck excellently says-but still only a
remembrance.
And still the room was filed with the
soft sweet tones which welled from the
piano. 1t had grown dark. Nothing
could be seen except the white keys
with her hands floating over them and
the head of the Juno in the corner.
He listened bewitched to the music,
and wondered why he was so moved.
Was it really she? How motionless she
sat there! What music her fingers
made! No, it was not the woman he
had known. A Transformation had taken
place,
Suddenly it occurred to him that he had
perhaps been misjudging her. 1t was at
least possible, even if difficult to imagine.
Supposing that her light, fiippant gayety
was only a mask under which the real
woman was disguised He himself had
worn mask. Like her, he seemed to be
what he was not. He had pretended to
be scoffer, for modern society demands
that all real feeling and emotion be con-
cealed. If ones real self is seen it is in
danger of being ridiculed. 1t might be
that she had only mirrored him. 1t
might be that she, too, had serious
thoughts which she feared to expose to
ridicule. Why should she treat him. a
scoffer, earnestly? And still his heart
was chilled and his lips We're closed by
the fear of her scornful laugh. Her
laugh, How maddeningly hooking it
was.
And a recollection flashed across his