That Wednesday a letter also arrived for the young Viscount of Edelstein. He opened the letter, saw the name at the bottom, and smiled for the first time that day.

Dear Roderich,

Of course I remember you! How could I forget you? Meet me on Thursday at three o'clock in the Tuileries Gardens. Don't be angry with me, Roderich, please.

Elizabeta Héderváry

Roderich put the letter carefully into his pocket. Angry? How could he be angry with an angel? On Thursday he was in the Tuileries Gardens by two o'clock.

At ten past three he began to feel unhappy. At half past three he wanted to die.

And then...she came. She ran through the gardens to him, and in a second she was in his arms.

'Oh, Elizabeta!' he said, again and again. 'Oh Elizabeta!' They walked through the gardens together and talked for along time. They remembered their happy weeks in Italy, four years ago.

'But why did you go away, Elizabeta?' Roderich asked. 'Why didn't you write to me?'

For a minute or two Elizabeta said nothing. Then she said slowly, 'We were so young, you and I. I was just a poor singer from Hungary, and you...you were the Viscount of Edelstein. I knew I could never be your wife.'

'But I love you, Elizabeta-'

'No, shh. Listen to me, Roderich, please. I went home to Hungary, and a year later, my father died. I was very unhappy, but I came back to the Opera House. I worked and worked at my singing, because I wanted to be an opera singer. Not just a good singer, but the best opera singer in Europe.'

'And now you are,' Roderich said. He smiled. 'All Europe is at your feet.'

Elizabeta turned her face away and said nothing.

'Elizabeta,' Roderich said quietly. 'I want to ask you a question. Who was the man in your dressing-room on Tuesday night? Tell me, please!'

Elizabeta stopped and stared at him. Her face went white. 'What man?' she whispered. 'There was no man in my dressing-room on Tuesday night.'

Roderich put his hand on her arm. 'I heard him,' he said. 'I listened outside the door and heard a man's voice. Who was he?'

'Don't ask me, Roderich! There was a man's voice, yes, but there was no man in my room! It's true! Oh, Roderich, I'm so afraid. Sometimes I want to die.'

'Who is he? Tell me, Elizabeta, please. I'm your friend, I can help you. Tell me his name.'

'I cannot tell you his name. It's a secret,' whispered Elizabeta. 'I never see him, I only hear his voice. But he is everywhere! He sees everything, hears everything. That's why I didn't speak to you on Tuesday night. He is my music teacher, Roderich. He's a wonderful singer. I sang so well on Tuesday night because of him. I am famous because of him. He is my angel of music! And he says he loves me. How can I leave him?'