she was dramatic in temperament—­he let his imagination run away with him.  She only sang an Oberbayerische yodel, and, while her voice was not very high, she contrived a falsetto that made her English listener shiver.  This yodel seemed to him as thrilling as the “Ho yo to ho!” of Brunnhilde as she rushes over the rocky road to Valhall. La la liriti!  La la lirita!  Hallali! chirped Roeselein, with a final flourish that positively enthralled Hugh Krayne.  He applauded, beating with his stick upon the table, his face flushed by emotion.  Decidedly this girl was worth the visit to Marienbad.

And he noted with delight that Fraeulein Gich had left the stage.  Basket in hand, she went from table to table, selling pictures and programmes and collecting admission fees.  At last he would be able to speak with the enchantress, for he prided himself on the purity of his German.  Smiling until she reached his table, she suddenly became serious when she saw this big Englishman in the plaid suit and red necktie.  Again he felt the imploring glance, the soft lips parted in childish supplication.  It was too much for his nerves.  He tossed into her basket a gold piece, grabbed at random some pictures, and as her beseeching expression deepened, her eyes moist with wonder and gratitude, he tugged at a ring on his corpulent finger, and, wrenching it free, presented it to her with a well-turned phrase, adding:—­

“Thou hast the making of a great singer in thee, Fraeulein Roeselein.  I wish I could help thee to fame!”

The girl gave him an incredulous stare, then reddening, the muscles on her full neck standing out, she ran like a hare back to her companions.  Evidently he had made an impression.  The honest folk about him who witnessed the little encounter fairly brimmed over with gossip.  The stout basso moved slowly to Krayne, who braced himself for trouble.  Now for it! he whispered to himself, and grasped his walking-stick firmly.  But, hat in hand, his visitor, a handsome blond man, approached and thanked Hugh for his generosity.  He was a lover of music, the yodler assured him, and his wife and himself felt grateful for the interest he displayed in Fraeulein Roeselein, his wife’s sister.  Yes, she had a remarkable voice.  What a pity—­but wouldn’t the gentleman attend the concert to be given that evening up at the Cafe Alm?  It was, to be sure, rather far, the cafe, but the moon would be up and if he could find his way there he might do the company the honour of coming back with them.

The Fraeulein would sing a lot for him—­Bohemian, Tyrolean, French, and German songs.  Ah, she was versatile!  The man did not speak like a peasant, and seemed a shrewd, pleasant fellow.  Hugh Krayne, in excellent though formal German, assured the other of his pleasure and accepted the invitation.  Then he looked over at Roeselein, who stood on the stage, and as he did so she waved a crimson handkerchief at him as a friendly sign.  He took off his hat, touched significantly his own tie to indicate a reciprocity of sentiment, and all aglow he ordered a third cup of coffee.