"Who did you say was waiting for me?" said madame to her servant. "I
am already worn with company."
"It's only a very pretty little boy with yellow curls, who said if he
can just see you he is sure you will not be sorry, and he will not keep
you a moment."
"Oh, well, let him come," said the beautiful singer, with a smile. "I
can never refuse children."
Little Pierre came in, his hat under his arm, and in his hand a little
roll of paper. With manliness unusual for a child he walked straight
to the lady and, bowing, said: "I came to see you because my mother is
very sick, and we are too poor to get food and medicine. I thought,
perhaps, that if you would sing my little song at some of your grand
concerts, maybe some publisher would buy it for a small sum and so I
could get food and medicine for my mother."
The beautiful woman arose from her seat. Very tall and stately she
was. She took the roll from his hand and lightly hummed the air.
"Did you compose it?" she asked; "you a child! And the words? Would
you like to come to my concert?" she asked.
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