The concert began with an overture from the orchestra. Then came Fraulein, the prima donna of the Imperial Opera, and then the boys. Carl came first, and played a brilliant, sparkling little piece, and was loudly applauded; next Gottfried and Johann, and then Raoul. When he stepped out upon the platform, his handsome face and fine form seemed to make an impression on the audience, for they remained perfectly silent. Raoul commenced. At first Franz paid no attention to him, then suddenly he started. The melody flowed on; louder and louder, clearer and clearer it rose. Franz stood motionless, listening in strained, fixed attention, until at last, overcome with grief and astonishment, he sank upon the floor and cried out piteously, with tears streaming down his face:
"Oh, Raoul! Raoul! how could you, could you do it--my own little piece that I loved so much? Oh, mother! mother!"--and,[Pg 128]
burying his head in his arms, he sobbed in an agony of grief.
He heard the burst of applause that greeted his piece--not Raoul's; he heard it all, but moved not until he heard Carl say:
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"Come, Franz! it's time to go. They are all waiting for you; but I am afraid that Raoul has won the prize."
What should he do, he wondered? And then he thought perhaps the kind Father in heaven would help him. So, breathing a little prayer in his heart, he walked calmly forth upon the platform.
At first, he trembled so that he could hardly begin; then a sudden inspiration seemed to come to him--a quick light swept across his
face. He raised the violin to his shoulder and began.
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