Her highness nodded at them brightly.
"Good morning, Herr Direktor." "Good morning, your Highness." "I have brought you a prima donna," touching Gretchen with her whip.
The Herr Direktor showed his teeth; her highness was always playing some jest.
"What shall she sing in, your Highness?
We are rehearsing _The Bohemian Girl_." The chorus and singers on the little stage exchanged smiles.
"I want your first violin," said her highness.
"Anton!" A youth stood up in the orchestral pit.
"Now, your Highness ?" said the Herr Direktor.
"Try her voice." And the Herr Direktor saw that she was not smiling.

He bade the violinist to draw his bow over a single note.
"Imitate it, Gretchen," commanded her highness; "and don't be afraid of the Herr Direktor or of the ladies and gentlemen in the gallery." Gretchen lifted her voice.

It was sweeter and mellower than the violin.
"Again!" the Herr Direktor cried, no longer curious.
Without apparent effort Gretchen passed from one note to another, now high, now low, or strong or soft; a trill, a run.

The violinist, of his own accord, began the jewel song from _Faust_.

Gretchen did not know the words, but she carried the melody without mishap.