; but I would pay it
to learn from the best masters;--and I had to make my father and
mother live on potatoes, and myself too, of course. If you buy potatoes
carefully, they are extremely cheap things to live upon, and make you
forget your hunger more than anything else.

"I suppose," added Emilia, "you have never lived upon potatoes entirely?
Oh, no!"

Wilfrid gave a quiet negative.

"But I was pining to learn, and was obliged to keep them low. I could
pitch any notes, and I was clear but I was always ornamenting, and what
I want is to be an accurate singer. My music-master was a German--not an
Austrian--oh, no!--I'm sure he was not. At least, I don't think so,
for I liked him. He was harsh with me, but sometimes he did stretch his
fingers on my head, and turn it round, and say words that I pretended
not to think of, though they sent me home burning. I began to compose,
and this gentleman tore up the whole sheet in a rage, when I showed
it him; but he gave me a dinner, and left off charging me ten
shillings--only seven, and then five--and he gave me more time than he
gave others. He also did something which I don't know yet whether I can
thank him for. He made me know the music of the great German. I used
to listen: I could not believe such music could come from a German. He
followed me about, telling me I was his slave. For some time I could not
sleep. I laughed at myself for composing. He was not an Austrian: but
when he was alive he lived in Vienna, the capital of Austria. He ate
Austrian bread, and why God gave him such a soul of music I never can
think!--Well, by-and-by my father wanted to know what I did in the day,
and why they never had anything but potatoes for dinner. My mother came
to me, and I told her to say, I took walks. My father said I was an
idle girl, and like my mother--who was a slave to work. People are often
unjust! So my father said he would watch me. I had to cross the park to
give a lesson to a lady who had a husband, and she wanted to sing to
him to keep him at home in the evening. I used to pray he might not have
much ear for music. One day a gentleman came behind me in the park. He
showed me a handkerchief, and asked me if it was mine. I felt for my own
and found it in my pocket. He was certain I had dropped it. He looked in
the corners for the name, I told him my name--Emilia Alessandra Belloni.
He found A.F.G. there. It was a beautiful cambric handkerchief, white
and smooth. I told him