"Why? Because, because--he is in love with some one in America."

"Ah, with you, I see," said the old man, as if it were the greatest
discovery of his life; "are you sure he has not some beautiful
sweetheart in Tuscany as well as here?"

"What a foolish question," she replied. "Men like Angelo Diotti do not
fall in love as soldiers fall in line. Love to a man of his nobility
is too serious to be treated so lightly."

"Very true, and that's what has excited my curiosity!" whereupon the
old man smoked away in silence.

"Excited your curiosity!" said Mildred. "What do you mean?"

"It may be something; it may be nothing; but my speculative instinct
has been aroused by a strange peculiarity in his playing."

"His playing is wonderful!" replied Mildred proudly.

"Aye, more than wonderful! I watched him intently," said the old man;
"I noted with what marvelous facility he went from one string to the
other. But however rapid, however difficult the composition, he
steadily avoided one string; in fact, that string remained untouched
during the entire hour he played for us."

"Perhaps the composition did not call for its use," suggested Mildred,
unconscious of any other meaning in the old man's observation, save
praise for her lover.

"Perhaps so, but the oddity impressed me; it was a new string to me. I
have never seen one like it on a violin before."

"That can scarcely be, for I do not remember of Signor Diotti telling
me there was anything unusual about his violin."

"I am sure it has a fifth string."

"And I am equally sure the string can be of no importance or Angelo
would have told me of it," Mildred quickly rejoined.

"I recall a strange story of Paganini," continued the old man,
apparently not noticing her interruption; "he became infatuated with a
lady of high rank, who was insensible of the admiration he had for her
beauty.

"He composed a love scene for two strings, the 'E' and 'G,' the first
was to personate the lady, the second himself. It commenced with a
species of dialogue, intending to represent her indifference and his
passion; now sportive, now sad; laughter on her part and tears from
him, ending in an apotheosis of loving reconciliation. It affected the
lady to that degree that ever after she loved the violinist."

"And no doubt they were happy?" Mildred suggested smilingly.

"Yes," said the old man, with assumed sentiment, "even when his
profession called him far away, for she had made him