ven place to a reality
and earnestness of purpose which rendered eloquent his every gesture and
look. He was exquisitely dressed in silk, embroidered with flowers. The
priceless lace at his wrists and throat accommodated itself, with a
delicate fulness, to the soft outline of his dress and figure. His
expression was full of kindliness and protection, but of kindliness
delicate and refined. The girl's eyes were fascinated in spite of
herself.

"Have you quarrelled with the Maestro, Tina?" said the Prince. "He
seemed in a marvellous hurry to be gone."

Faustina made two or three ineffectual attempts to speak before she
could find her voice. She burst into tears.

"He is cruel! cruel!" she said. "He does not love me. He will not have
me any longer. He throws me away."

"Poor child!" said the Prince, "you will not be deserted. I am your
friend; we are all your friends. The Maestro even will come back to you.
He is cross and angry. When he finds how lost he is without you and your
lovely voice, he will come back to you; you and he will carry all before
you again."

"Speak to him, Highness!" cried the girl passionately. "You are kind
and good to all--kinder than any one to me. Speak to him! do not let
him go without me! He cannot live without his music, and no one surely
can know his music so well as I, whom he has taught!"

She looked so indescribably attractive in her tears and her distress
that the Prince wondered at the sight. "Let her go, indeed!"

"Tina," he said very kindly, "I fear that can hardly be. The Maestro is
only going for a time. There is, in fact, no need that he should go at
all. It is his own wish, his own wish, Tina. He is too old to make his
way among strangers, and will soon come back. But you we cannot spare.
You are too much a favourite with us all. We are too much accustomed to
you: every one would miss you--the Princess and all; you must stay with
us."

"I cannot stay," said the girl, looking earnestly and beseechingly at
the Prince. "I want to go with him."

The Prince hesitated for a moment. In an instantaneous flash of thought
the two paths lay open before him, plain and clear to be seen.
Carricchio's warning struck him again with renewed force. The more
terrible presage of Mark's death cast itself, ghostlike, before his
steps. He could plead no excuse of self-deception: he saw the beauty and
the danger of the way which lay before him on either hand. He hesitated
for a moment, then he