The introspective life that Anita led was strongly expressed in her music.  Never had Neroda a pupil who was willing to work so hard as Anita, and the result charmed him.  On this afternoon Anita was at her lesson in the great drawing-room, the red sunset pouring in through the long windows and flooding the room with crimson lights and purple shadows.  Anita, wearing a little, nun-like black gown that outlined her slim figure, played, with wonderful fire and finish, a wild and gorgeous Hungarian dance by Brahms.

There was a delicate melody winding through all of the rich harmonies, as it ran up the scale, like a bird soaring into the blue sky, and then descended with splendid double notes, into the sombre and passionate G string, the string that touches the soul.  It grew more of a miracle to Neroda than ever to watch Anita’s slender bow-arm flashing back and forth, drawing out, with amazing force, the soul of the violin, her slender figure erect and poised high, vibrating with the strings, and her eyes darkening and lightening as the music grew deeply passionate or brilliantly gay.  When she finished, and stood, smiling and triumphant, still holding the violin and bow, Neroda said to her: 

“Are you not tired, Signorina?”

“Not a bit,” cried Anita.  “I feel that I could play as long as you did, in the days of which you told me when you first came to America and would play the violin all night long for dancers on the East Side in New York.”

“I believe you could, almost,” replied Neroda, smiling.  “I, who had been a concert master in Italy, was only too glad to get three dollars for fiddling from eight in the evening until three in the morning; but they were happy nights, because I was young and strong and full of hope and loved my fiddle.  Sometimes, when I am leading the band in my fine uniform, I long to take the instrument away from one of the bandsmen and play it as I did in those days, without any baton to hold me back; but the violin is a man’s instrument and requires much strength.  Now, where, Signorina, in your girlish arms and little hands, did you get such strength?”

“It is here,” said Anita, smiling and tapping her breast.  “I have a strong heart, my blood circulates well, and I am not afraid of the violin, like most girls.  I am its master, and it shall do my will.”

At that she tapped her violin sharply with the bow, saying to it: 

“Do you hear me?  You are my slave, and I shall make you do what I wish you to do.  If I wish you to talk Brahms, you shall talk Brahms; if I wish you to be sad, I will make you sad with funeral marches.  You shall speak Italian, German, French or English, as I tell you.”

Neroda laughed with delight.  He loved the imaginative nature of the girl, who treated her violin as if it were a living thing, and whispered her secrets into the ear of her riding horse, and told love stories to her birds.