complexion seemed to heighten the clear, pure pallor of the oval cheek.  And now all doubts as to how Leo might receive her had fled from her mind; they were on the old, familiar terms again; and she followed with an eager and joyous interest all that he had to say to her.  Then how easily could she accentuate her sympathetic listening with this expressive face!  The mobile, somewhat large, beautifully formed mouth, the piquant little nose with its sensitive nostrils, the eloquent dark eyes could just say anything she pleased; though, to be sure, however varying her mood might be, in accordance with what she heard and what was demanded of her, her normal expression was one of an almost childish and happy content.  She poured her glass of Chianti into a tumbler, and filled that up with water, and sipped it as a canary sips.  She made little pellets of bread with her dainty white fingers—­but that was in forgetfulness—­that was in her eagerness of listening.  And at last she said,

“What is it, Leo?—­you wish to frighten me with your trials?—­no! for now you laugh at all these—­these mortifications.  Then a man is proud—­he is sensitive—­he is not patient as a woman—­oh, you think you frighten me?—­no, no!”

The fact is, he began to see more and more clearly that she was resolved upon trying her fortune on the lyric stage; and he thought it his duty to let her know very distinctly what she would have to encounter.  He did not exactly try to dissuade her; but he gave her a general idea of what she might expect, and that in not too roseate colors.  His chief difficulty, however, was this:  he was possessed by a vague feeling that there might be some awkwardness in having Antonia Rossi engaged at the same theatre with himself; and yet, looking round all the light operas then being performed, he had honestly to confess that the only part Nina could aspire to take, with her present imperfect pronunciation of English, was that of the young French officer played at the New Theatre by Mlle. Girond.  Nor did it lessen his embarrassment to find, as soon as he mentioned this possibility, that to join the New Theatre was precisely what Signorina Rossi desired.

“I don’t think there would be much difficulty about it, Nina,” he was forced to admit—­carefully concealing his reluctance the while.  “Lehmann, that is our manager, is talking about getting up a second travelling company, for the opera is so popular everywhere; and there is to be a series of rehearsals of under-studies beginning next Monday, and you could see all the coaching going on.  Then you could sit in front at night, and watch Mlle. Girond’s ‘business:’  how would you like that, Nina?—­whether what she does is clever or stupid, you would have to copy it? the public would expect that—­”

“Why not?” Nina said, with a pleasant smile.  “Why not?  I learn.  She knows more; why I not learn?”

“It’s a shame to throw away a fine voice like yours on a small part in comic opera,” he said—­still with vague dreams before him of a concert-room career for her.