I nodded.
"Money?" she asked softly.
I nodded.
"How much do you need?"
"Five dollars," I said.
She smiled, and said: "Is that all? I should willingly do more for a friend of Hugo Wolff's!"
She went out of the room, and closed the door behind her. She left me in my shabby clothes, in my black straw hat and my need of five dollars, in her gorgeous drawing-room, scattered with priceless ornaments in silver and gold, jewelled frames and trinkets lying all about the tables. I covered my face with my hands, and the tears rolled through my fingers. She came back a few minutes afterwards with a gold twenty-dollar piece in her hand. She gave it to me, and said, "For luck!" and added:
"Is there nothing else I can do?"
I nodded, with my eyes full of tears. "Yes!" and I looked at the piano.
She smiled and sat down. She sang for me. I know she sang her very best. She had a lovely voice.