"Bravo!" cried the Director, "Um Himmel's Willen, child, you have a voice like a lark rising in the meadows, and you sing—Bravo! Bravo!"
He put out his hands and took the girl's trembling ones into his own.
"You will take me?" she said, "You see, when I am not so nervous it will go better."
The Kapellmeister laughed and took a card out of his pocket: "Write your name here," he said, "Your real one. I won't tell—and your address."
Kaya drew back suddenly: "I live in the mill," she said, "You know, the Nonnen-Mühle by the promenade? You won't let any one know, will you, Monsieur, because—"
"Are you afraid of spies, child? Tut, the chorus can't hear. I won't tell a soul."
"No one?"
"On my honour—no one. Now, your name?"
She looked away from him a moment; then she took the pencil and wrote on the card in small, running letters: "Marya Pulitsin."
"So that's your real name, is it?"