And this essential and primal truth Evelyn revealed to him and the very spirit and sense of maidenhood, the centre and receptacle of life, the mysterious secret of things, the awful moment when the whisper of the will to live is heard in matter, the will which there is no denying, the surrender of matter, the awaking of consciousness in things.  And united to the eternal idea of generation, he perceived the congenital idea which in remotest time seems to have sprung from it—­that life is sin and must be atoned for by prayer.  Evelyn’s interpretation revealed his deepest ideas to himself, and at last he seemed to stand at the heart of life.

Suddenly his rapture was broken through; the singer had stopped the orchestra.

“You have cut some of the music, I see,” she said, addressing the conductor.

“Only the usual cut, Miss Innes.”

“About twenty pages, I should think.”

The conductor counted them.

“Eighteen.”

“Miss Innes, that cut has been accepted everywhere—­Munich, Berlin, Wiesbaden—­everywhere except Bayreuth.”

“But, Mr. Hermann Goetze, my agreement with you is that the operas I sing in are to be performed in their entirety.”

“In their entirety; that is to say, well—­taken literally, I suppose—­that the phrase ‘In their entirety’ could be held to mean without cuts; but surely, regarding this particular cut—­I may say that I spoke to Sir Owen about it, and he agreed with me that it was impossible to get people into the theatre in London before half-past seven.”

“But, Mr. Hermann Goetze, your agreement is with me, not with Sir Owen Asher.”

“Quite so, Miss Innes, but—­”

“If people don’t care sufficiently for art to dine half-an-hour earlier, they had better stay away.”

“But you see, Miss Innes, you’re not in the first act; there are the other artistes to consider.  The ‘Venusberg’ will be sung to empty benches if you insist.”

It seemed for a moment as if Mr. Hermann Goetze was going to have his way; and Ulick, while praying that she might remain firm, recognised how adroitly Hermann Goetze had contrived to place her in a false position regarding her fellow artistes.

“I am quite willing to throw up the part; I can only sing the opera as it is written.”

The conductor suggested a less decisive cut to Evelyn, and Mr. Hermann Goetze walked up and down the stage, overtaken by toothache.  His agony was so complete that Evelyn’s harshness yielded.  She went to him, and, her hand laid commiseratingly on his arm, she begged him to go at once to the dentist.

Then some of the musicians said that they could hardly read the music, so effectually had they scratched it out.

“If the musicians cannot play the music, we had better go home,” said Evelyn.

“But the opera is announced for to-morrow night,” Mr. Hermann Goetze replied dolefully.