“My splendid, kind father let me go sadly.  I had half-a-year more school to complete, and one more examination.  My dear parents rejoiced that then I would be wholly their’s, because they had only me, and for me they worked and saved.  My Uncle agreed with me in everything.  Like me, he did not want to enter the narrow path which leads to glory.  With the conclusion of the school-year, my study of singing also ended, and I returned home with the intention of persuading my parents to permit me to enter the opera—­that means, to become a singer.  More than half-a-year I fought at home with pleas and tears, but in vain.  My father was wonderfully patient and kind to me.  Mother and grandmother were often not so patient, but, like these grand mountains, they would not move, nor could anyone move my father to break his word that he would never give me permission to go.  Well, what he did not give me, I took myself.”

“What did you do?” compassionately asked Bacha.  The lady broke out crying.

“I left home, leaving a letter behind saying that I loved the world, in which and for which, I wanted to live, and I loved the glory of the world and did not want to bury myself on the farm.  I ran away to my Uncle’s.  My dear father came at once for me.  He begged and pled, but I didn’t want to go back with him, and did not do so.

“’When you find out that the world is as vain as soap-bubbles, and your heart is full of disillusionment, ready to despair, then remember that you have a father and a home to return to,’ said father.  ’Until that time you cannot count yourself one of us.  We are standing on two different paths:  the one we go on is narrow and leads high; the other, which you have chosen, is broad and will lead you from the heights to a deep abyss.  Our prayers will surround you always like a fiery wall.  I know that you will have to suffer much evil and much sorrow, but our prayers will prevent you from sinning as grievously as you will see others do around you.’

“Those were his last words.  Oh, Bacha Filina, I went over that broad path.  In a short time I was a famous singer.  The people carried me on their arms.  Though I was a simple farmer’s daughter, because of the courses of the good schools which I had attended, the doors of high society opened to me, and I, like the prodigal, very soon forgot my parents, and especially my good father.  Then Lord Gemer came into my life, and I married him, being ready to leave everything for him, even my fame.  He promised me that even when I was his wife, he would agree to my keeping on with my singing.  He kept that promise while we were in America and Italy.  But in his native country it was impossible.

“And then everything began to turn out just as my dear father foretold.  But I don’t want to talk about that.  I just wanted to say that I am that prodigal son.”

“That you are, my lady, but only half-way; because the son returned, and you haven’t returned yet.”