his manner in my own lodging? Pay you ten ducats
for that rotten old box, out of which the worms have long since gnawed
all the marrow, all the sound! Not ten, not five, not three, not a
single ducat will I pay you for that spinett, which is scarcely worth a
quattrino. Away with the crippled old thing," and therewith Salvator
sent the little spinett spinning round and round with his foot, its
strings giving out a loud wail of sorrow.

"Ha!" screamed Capuzzi, "there is still law in Rome. I will have
you put in prison, into the deepest dungeon;" and, growling like a
thunder-cloud, he was making for the door. But Salvator put both his
arms about him, set him down in the chair again, and whispered in his
ear in dulcet tones, "My dear Signor Pasquale, do you not see that I am
only joking? Not ten, thirteen ducats you shall have for your spinett,"
and went on repeating into his ear, "thirteen bright ducats," so long
and so often that Capuzzi said, in a faint, feeble voice, "What say
you, dear sir? Thirteen ducats for the spinett, and nothing for the
repairs?" Then Salvator let him go, and assured him, on his honour,
that in an hour's time the spinett should be worth thirty--forty
ducats, and that he, Capuzzi, should get that sum for it.

The old man, drawing breath, murmured: with a deep sigh, "Thirty--forty
ducats!" Then he added, "But you have greatly enraged me, Signor
Salvator." "Thirty ducats," reiterated Salvator. The old man blinked
his eyes. But then again, "You have wounded me to the heart, Signor
Salvator." "Thirty ducats," said Salvator again and again, till at
length the old man said, quite appeased, "If I can get thirty or forty
ducats for my spinett, all will be forgotten and forgiven, dear
Signor."

"But before I fulfil my promise," said Salvator, "I have one little
stipulation to make which you, my worthy Signor Pasquale Capuzzi di
Senegaglia, can easily comply with. You are the first composer in all
Italy, and, into the bargain, the very finest singer that can possibly
be found. I have listened with rapture to the grand scena in the opera
'Le Nozze di Teti e di Peleo,' which the villain Francesco Cavalli has
cribbed from you and given out as his own. If you would be good enough
to sing me that aria during the time that I am setting the spinett to
rights, I cannot imagine anything more delightful that could happen to
me."

The old fellow screwed his face up into the most sugary smile
imaginable, twitched