o, you have indeed only been following
a deception, for it has not only been irreligion, it has been bad art."

"The sphere of religion," said the Prince, "is the present, and its
scope the whole of human life. It is, therefore, an art. If art is
selfish, so is religion. The most disinterested martyr is selfish, for
he is following the dictates of his higher self. I tell you Tina is
mine, I want her. She shall not go!"

"You said the same of the boy, Highness," said Carricchio gravely; "yet
he went--went a long journey from us all. _Mon Prince_, beware!"

VII.

FAILING with the old Arlecchino, the Prince determined to try his own
influence with the girl; but he had no intention of acting in a
blundering and inartistic manner. He was too good an artist not to
prepare the way. Having failed with Carricchio, he resolved to try the
Maestro once more.

He sent for the old man. "Maestro," he said, "I regret exceedingly what
has happened. I do not wish to make a disturbance immediately after
coming to Court after so long an absence. It would not be well. But we
shall soon put things right. Meanwhile, if you like to travel for a few
months you can do so. There is no necessity for it that I know of, but
it will be an entertainment for you, and you will gather ideas for your
music, and, no doubt, fame also. If the Signorina remains here, you
shall have letters of credit on Paris or any other city. As you will not
be dependent on your music, it probably will be a great success. As the
Scripture says, 'To him that hath shall be given.' When you are tired of
wandering you can return. But Tina remains here--you understand."

"I have already tried to persuade her, Highness," said the old man.

"Well, you must try again. You shall sup with her to-night, as you are
neither of you wanted at the opera. I will order supper for you in _la
petite Salle_ beyond the _salon_. When I return at night I shall find
everything arranged."

The Prince himself went to the opera. He did not care to be seen, as he
was supposed to have received a slight, but he had nothing else to do,
and was interested in the performance, which was a new opera by
Metastasio. Indeed, he was restless, and wanted diversion of any kind.

He sat well back in his box, across the front of which the delicate lace
curtains were partly drawn. Karl the _Jager_, and the valet who
attended, had left the box and retired to their own gallery, where they
criticised the