o be feathers here instead of hair, for no nightingale,
nestled in the olive groves of Italy, ever warbled more easily and
naturally. Don't go out to the world as Miss Owen,--make it call you
_Rosignuolo_. Take the next page in the instruction-book for a new
lesson, and practise the old scales over before you touch the
new,--they are like steps in a ladder, and save jumps and jars. God
made your voice wonderful, and, if you are only careful not to undo
his work, it will develop itself every year in fresh power and depth.
Ha! if my poor squeaking Beatrice only had it! But there is no more
music stored in her throat and chest than in a regiment of rats. Good
day, miss. Your lesson is ended, and I go to buy some wood for my
miserable shiverers."

He seized his hat and walking-stick and quitted the house, leaving his
pupil to gather up her music and conjecture, meanwhile, whether the
wood-yard or a neighboring bar-room was his real destination.

His dissipated habits had greatly impaired her faith in the accuracy
of his critical acumen touching professional matters, and, as she
rolled up the sheet of paper in her hands, Salome approached the
feeble occupant of the rocking-chair, and said, rather abruptly,--

"Madam Barilli, you ought to know when your husband speaks earnestly
and when he is merely indulging in idle flattery, and I wish to learn
his real opinion of my voice. Will you tell me the truth?"

"Yes, miss, I will. I am no musician, and never was in Europe, where
he studied; but he talks constantly of your voice, and tells me there
is a fortune in it. Only last night he swore that if he could control
it, he would not take a hundred thousand dollars for the right; and
then, poor fellow, he fell into one of his fierce ways and boxed my
little Beatrice's ears, because, he said, all the teachers in the
_Conservatoire_ could not put into her throat the trill that you were
born with. Ah, no, he flatters no one now! He has forgotten how, since
the day that I was coaxed to run away from my father's elegant home
and marry the tenor singer of an opera troupe and the professor who
taught me the gamut at boarding-school. Miss, you may believe him, for
Sebastian Barilli means what he says."

"One hundred thousand dollars! I promise him and you that if one-half
of that amount can be 'trilled' into my pocket you shall both be
comfortable during the remainder of your days."

"Mine are numbered, and will end before your career