right were
brushes, combs, jars of cream, and barbers' chairs. On the left, hanging
on the walls and on the shelves, were various instruments, violins,
cornets, trombones, etc.

"Monsieur Espinassous?" inquired Mattia.

Fluttering like a bird, the dapper little man, who was in the act of
shaving a man, replied: "I am Monsieur Espinassous."

I glanced at Mattia as much as to say that the barber musician was not
the man we were looking for, that it would be wasting good money to
consult him, but Mattia, instead of understanding my look, sat down in a
chair with a deliberate air.

"Will you cut my hair after you have shaved that gentleman?" he asked.

"Certainly, young man, and I'll give you a shave also, if you like."

"Thanks," replied Mattia.

I was abashed at his assurance. He looked at me out of the corner of his
eye, to ask me to wait before getting annoyed.

When the man was shaved, M. Espinassous, with towel over his arm,
prepared to cut Mattia's hair.

"Monsieur," said Mattia, while the barber tied the sheet round his neck,
"my friend and I had an argument, and as we know that you are a
celebrated musician, we thought that you would give us your advice and
settle the matter for us."

"What is it, young man?"

Now I knew what Mattia was driving at! First of all, he wanted to see if
this barber-musician was capable of replying to our questions; if so, he
intended to get a music lesson at the price of a hair cut.

All the while Mattia was having his hair cut, he asked questions. The
barber-musician was highly amused, but answered each question put to him
quickly and with pleasure. When we were ready to leave he asked Mattia
to play something on his violin. Mattia played a piece.

"And you don't know a note of music!" cried the barber, clapping his
hands, and looking affectionately at Mattia as though he had known and
loved him all his life. "It is wonderful!"

Mattia took a clarionette from amongst the instruments and played on it;
then a cornet.

"Why, the youngster's a prodigy!" cried M. Espinassous in rapture; "if
you will stay here with me I'll make you a great musician. In the
mornings you shall learn to shave my customers and the rest of the day
you shall study music. Don't think, because I'm a barber, I don't know
music. One has to live!"

I looked at Mattia. What was he going to reply? Was I to lose my friend,
my chum, my brother?

"Think for your own good, Mattia," I said, but my voice