"Age is no matter!" grunted Herr Hoffmann. "I do not often praise you, but you can play what many who are older dare not attempt. You shall try it? Yes? I go myself to see your good aunt, and persuade her. Have I not always said that you should study in Berlin? Kalovski is now teaching at the Conservatoire. Himmel! It is the opportunity of a lifetime! He is the one master to whom I would send you."
Herr Hoffmann lost no time in visiting Dr. and Mrs. Graham, and advising them to allow their niece to go in for the scholarship. After thinking the matter over for a few days they agreed. There seemed no objection to her trying, and if she failed no harm would be done. An hour's extra practice daily the Professor required, but that could be arranged with Miss Cartwright, who was willing to let Mildred's music take the first place in her education, and who, they knew, would encourage her to enter as a candidate. Mildred herself was almost appalled at the prospect, but it was settled for her by her elders, so she was obliged to fall in with their plans. After all, the Professor's enthusiasm was infectious, and though she might not share his sanguine hopes, she was at least willing to try her best.
The test piece for the examination was the "Valse Triste" by Sibelius, and she set to work at once to wrestle with it. It was a composition that it would tax the powers of a first-rate concert player to render adequately, so she had no light task before her. Herr Hoffmann, in his anxiety for her to excel, alternately cajoled and raved, so that her lessons were a series of sunshine and storm. By this time, however, she knew her master's idiosyncrasies, and neither his impatience nor his bursts of temper could put her out. She had discovered what a kind heart he held under his rough manner, and was well aware that he spent an amount of time and trouble over her which was altogether above and beyond what could be expected by even the most exacting of pupils. So she worked away, trying to do justice to his tuition, but viewing it almost as a piece of presumption on her part to attempt the examination.
The weeks passed along quickly—too rapidly for the amount Mildred wished to do in them—and the beginning of July drew near. The candidates were to be examined in one of the smaller rooms at the Town Hall, the judges being Monsieur Diegeryck, a well-known Belgian violinist, Monsieur Stenovitch, a Russian pianist, and Mr. Steiniger himself.
"I shall fail, Tantie—I know I shall!" declared Mildred. "It's ridiculous my going in at all! I only do it to please you and the Professor. You wouldn't be satisfied if I didn't try. I only hope the judges won't crush me too utterly, and tell me it's wasting their time to listen to me. No, I'm not even nervous, because I feel the chance is too remote. If I'd greater expectations I should mind far more; as it is, I shall just play my piece in the best fashion I can, and accept any snubbing that's offered me afterwards. I've got to the point where I simply don't care."
"Then by all means let us leave it at that," said Mrs. Graham, who, after previous experiences of Mildred's apprehensions, had no wish to rouse fresh fears.
On the 4th of July, therefore, Mildred, fortified by the Professor's very latest instructions and directions, presented herself and her Stradivarius at the Town Hall at the time which had been appointed for her. She had to wait a few minutes while a piano student finished playing, but her turn came next, and she was very soon ushered into the examination room. She looked round eagerly. A Bechstein grand piano stood open, after the last candidate's ordeal, and Signor Marziani, one of the teachers at the Freiburg College, who was to play the accompaniments to the stringed instruments, was in the act of closing the top. Mildred had been very anxious to know who was to accompany her, and was rejoiced to find that it would be Signor Marziani, for she knew from Herr Hoffmann's accounts that he had a sympathetic touch, and was far more skilful at his task than Mr. Joynson, who shared the duty with him at most musical examinations in Kirkton. She glanced hurriedly at her three judges. Mr. Steiniger she had seen before—a pleasant, brown-bearded little man with kindly blue eyes; but the two others were strangers. Monsieur Diegeryck was a typical Belgian—big and fair and stout, with a bland smile that seemed to seek to reassure her; Monsieur Stenovitch, on the contrary, was thin and dark, with long hair and bushy eyebrows, under which a pair of keen eyes surveyed her with an almost cynical expression of criticism. All three had pencils and paper, and appeared to have been comparing notes on their reports of the performance of the last candidate. They composed themselves to listen, and Signor Marziani struck a few preliminary chords on the piano.
"Now for it!" thought Mildred. "Well! They can't do more than pluck me, and I'm quite prepared for it."
For perhaps the first time in her life she did not feel nervous before an audience of strangers. She played exactly as if she were having a lesson from the Professor, or practising in her bedroom at Meredith Terrace. She was surprised at her own confidence, and went through the Valse Triste so easily that it was over almost before she realized what she was doing. The judges looked at one another, but made no remarks. Each scribbled rapidly for a moment, then they told her that she might go, and bowed her politely from the room.
"How did you get on?" asked a student who was waiting outside.