“Ah, the gun!” He smiled and nodded in comprehension, then, as an officer appeared in the door of a coffee-house across the street, he stiffened into immobility and stared past Harmony into space.  But the girl knew he would do as she had desired.

That day brought good luck to Harmony.  The wife of one of the professors at the hospital desired English conversation at two Kronen an hour.

Peter brought the news home at noon, and that afternoon Harmony was engaged.  It was little enough, but it was something.  It did much more than offer her two Kronen an hour; it gave her back her self-confidence, although the immediate result was rather tragic.

The Frau Professor Bergmeister, infatuated with English and with Harmony, engaged her, and took her first two Kronen worth that afternoon.  It was the day for a music-lesson.  Harmony arrived five minutes late, panting, hat awry, and so full of the Frau Professor Bergmeister that she could think of nothing else.

Obedient to orders she had placed the envelope containing her fifty Kronen before the secretary as she went in.  The master was out of humor.  Should he, the teacher of the great Koert, be kept waiting for a chit of a girl—­only, of course, he said “das Kindchen” or some other German equivalent for chit—­and then have her come into the sacred presence breathless, and salute him between gasps as the Frau Professor Bergmeister?

Being excited and now confused by her error, and being also rather tremulous with three flights of stairs at top speed, Harmony dropped her bow.  In point of heinousness this classes with dropping one’s infant child from an upper window, or sitting on the wrong side of a carriage when with a lady.

The master, thus thrice outraged, rose slowly and glared at Harmony.  Then with a lordly gesture to her to follow he stalked to the outer room, and picking up the envelope with the fifty Kronen held it out to her without a word.

Harmony’s world came crashing about her ears.  She stared stupidly at the envelope in her hand, at the master’s retreating back.

Two girl students waiting their turn, envelopes in hand, giggled together.  Harmony saw them and flushed scarlet.  But the lady secretary touched her arm.

“It does not matter, Fraulein.  He does so sometimes.  Always he is sorry.  You will come for your next lesson, not so? and all will be well.  You are his well-beloved pupil.  To-night he will not eat for grief that he has hurt you.”

The ring of sincerity in the shabby secretary’s voice was unmistakable.  Her tense throat relaxed.  She looked across at the two students who had laughed.  They were not laughing now.  Something of fellowship and understanding passed between them in the glance.  After all, it was in the day’s work—­would come to one of them next, perhaps.  And they had much in common—­the struggle, their faith, the everlasting loneliness, the little white envelopes, each with its fifty Kronen.