Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/123

 was singing—singing to thousands of music lovers. She would have a great triumph, no doubt; the brilliant audience would call her out again and again, as those in the East had done. The wonder of it, the glory of it, that one human voice could sway so many!

Yet, somehow, the picture the nun took with her when she at last fell asleep was not the radiant figure of the great artist smiling her thanks before the curtain, nor the grandly maternal figure of Fidès. It was the mother look that had lit Frau Holstein's eyes as she bent over the small, plump, German maid whom she had gathered up in her strong arms—her child, sung to sleep by its mother's voice.