She met her in the courtyard, and the vivacious little woman cried, “My dear, how glad I am to see you!” and she stretched out both hands.  Evelyn was more pleased to see her friend than she expected to be, and while listening to her she envied her for being so happy, and she wondered why she was so happy; and while asking herself these questions she noticed her dress.  Mademoiselle Helbrun’s plump figure was set off to full advantage in a black and white check silk dress, and she wore a wonderful arched hat with flowing plumes of the bird of paradise.  She was a prima-donna every inch of her, standing on the steps of her hotel, whereas the operatic stage could hardly be distinguished at all in Evelyn’s dress.  With the black crepon skirt she wore a heliotrope blouse, and she stood, one foot showing beyond the skirt, in a statue-like attitude, her pale parasol held negligently over one shoulder.

“My dear,” she said, “I have come to ask you to let me lunch with you.”

“But I shall be enchanted, my dear.  I wrote on the chance, never thinking that you would be in town this season.”

“Yes, it is strange.  I don’t know why I am here.  There’s no one in town.”

“Where would you like to lunch?  In my room or in the restaurant?”

“It will be gayer in the restaurant.  I haven’t seen a soul for nearly a week.”

“My dear!”

Louise gave her a sharp look, in which the passing thought that Evelyn might be in want of money was dismissed as ridiculous.  Louise thought of some unhappy love affair, and when they sat down to lunch she noticed that Evelyn avoided answering a question regarding herself, and turned the conversation on to the Munich performance.  The evident desire of Evelyn not to talk about herself clouded Louise’s pleasure in talking of herself, and she paused in her account of the Wotan, the Brunnhilde, the conductor and the Rhine Maidens to tell Evelyn of the inquiries that had been made about her—­all were looking forward to her Kundry next year.  Madame Wagner had said that there never had been such a Brunnhilde.

“I daresay she said so, but at the bottom of her heart she did not like my Brunnhilde.  It was against her ideas.  She always thought I was too much woman.  She said that I forgot that I was a Goddess.  And she was right.  I never could remember the Goddess.  I never remember anything on the stage.  ’Tisn’t my way.  I simply live it all out.  I was enthusiastic when Siegfried came to release me, because I should have been enthusiastic about him.”  Evelyn’s thoughts went back to Owen, and she remembered how he had released her from the bondage of music lessons with a kiss.

“But when I came to tell you about the ruined Valhala and the poor fallen Gods you were sorry?”

“Yes, I was sorry for father.”

“The All-Father?”

Evelyn laughed.

“No, my own father.  That’s my way.  I think of what has happened to me and I act that.  But tell me about the Munich performances.”