n the old
house, now situated in an exceedingly unfashionable quarter, held a
place in her affections because years before it had been a part of
fashionable New York, and she felt quite proud because she was known as
Miss Houston of Houston Street. The name suggested a title, and a
title of all things was dear to her heart. Perhaps her love for Jenny
was stronger because her father was supposed--by his unfortunate wife
at least--to have been the scion of a proud and aristocratic family,
who had not been too proud, however, to leave her to starve.
Altogether, Miss Husted was an exceedingly romantic, high-strung,
middle-aged spinster, miles and miles above her station in life, whose
heart and purse were open to any foreigner who had discernment enough
to see her weakness and tact enough to pander to it by hinting at his
noble lineage. This love of things and beings aristocratic was more
than a weakness. It was a disease, for it kept poor a good soul, who
otherwise might have been, if not well-to-do, at least fairly
prosperous.

Jenny, young as she was, knew all this. She knew that Fico, or Signor
Tagliafico, was a struggling musician and not an artist in any sense of
the word. She knew he was an ordinary Italian fiddler who preferred to
fiddle for food rather than to work manually for it. And yet her aunt
had confided to her that she was sure he was a count, because one day
Miss Husted had asked him the question, and the man, not quite
understanding, had smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Still, he had
not denied it, so thenceforth was known as Count Fico.

And Pinac, the gentleman who occupied the other back room next to that
of Fico? Miss Husted was sure that he was a descendant of the noble
refugees from France, who emigrated during the Reign of Terror in the
French Revolution. The romance of this appealed highly to her.
Monsieur Pinac was always silent when questioned on this point, but
Miss Husted was much interested. His silence surely meant something,
and besides, he looked every inch a nobleman with his fashionably cut
Van Dyck beard. There was a picture of the Duc de Guise in one of the
bedrooms--Heavens only knows where Miss Husted got it, but there it
was--and pointing to it with great pride, she defied Monsieur Pinac to
deny his relationship to the defunct duke. Pinac did not take the
trouble to deny it! As a matter of fact, he was simply an ordinary
musician who continued to follow his profess