_ -....... .—;r-.,.-- -_.. ..... .. .

 

ENE

NATASHA had come into his life in a
strange manner.

It was after the performance of a tone-poem in
which a solo by the first oboe figured prominently.
There was prolonged applause and Turano had sig-
nalled Simpson to take a bow, a distinct honor.

After the concert a woman came backstage and
asked for the soloist. She was tall, in her early thirties,
decidedly Slavic in appearance. She swept forward
to the flustered oboist and uttered a solitary word:
“Splendid!” And before he could reply she had dis-
appeared. A word, a smile, a significant glance-
nothing more.

But the memory of the occasion remained vivid for-
ever. From that moment on she lived in his day-
dreams with him. She became his loyal companion,
his severest critic, his fellow-revolutionist; yes, let
us be blunt, his mistress. She understood him when
all others failed. When Mathilda seemed particu-

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