In half an hour I was her abject
slave, and proud in my serfdom.
When I returned to the hotel that evening
I could not sleep. Her image ever
was before me, elusive and shadowy.
And yet we seemed to grow farther and
farther apart--she nearer heaven, I
nearer earth.

The next evening I gave my first and
what I fear may prove my last concert
in America. The vision of my dreams
was there, radiant in rarest beauty.
Singularly enough, she was in the direct
line of my vision while I played.
I saw only her, played but for her, and
cast my soul at her feet. She sat indifferent
and silent. ``Cold?'' you say. No!
No! Francesca, not cold; superior to
my poor efforts. I realized my
limitations. I questioned my genius. When
I returned to bow my acknowledgments
for the most generous applause I have
ever received, there was no sign on her
part that I had interested her, either
through my talent or by appeal to her
curiosity. I hoped against hope that
some word might come from her, but I
was doomed to disappointment. The
critics were fulsome in their praise and