st beautiful object she had ever seen. Then the bass and the
baritone came together and spoke cheering words to Nino, and invited
him to supper afterwards; but he thanked them kindly, and told them
that he was expected at home, and would go with them after the next
performance--if there ever were a "next." He thought he might fail at
the last minute.

Nino had judged more rightly than I when he supposed that his beard
and moustaches would disguise him from Hedwig during the first two
acts. She recognised the wondrous voice, and she saw the strong
resemblance he had spoken of. Once or twice as he looked toward her,
it seemed indeed that the eyes must be his, with their deep circles
and serious gaze. But it was absurd to suppose it anything more than a
resemblance. As the opera advanced, it became evident that Nino was
making a success. Then in the second act it was clear that the success
was growing to be an ovation, and the ovation a furore, in which the
house became entirely demoralised, and vouchsafed to listen only so
long as Nino was singing--screaming with delight before he had
finished what he had to sing in each scene. People sent their servants
away in hot haste to buy flowers wherever they could, and he came back
to his dressing-room, from the second act, carrying bouquets by the
dozen, small bunches and big, such as people had been able to get or
had brought with them. His eyes shone like the coals in Mariuccia's
scaldino, as he entered, and he was pale through his paint. He could
hardly speak for joy; but, as old habits return unconsciously at great
moments in a man's life, he took the cat on his knee and pulled its
tail.

"Sing thou also, little beast," he said, gravely; and he pulled the
tail till the cat squeaked a little, and he was satisfied.

"Bene!" he cried; "and now for the tonsure and the frock." So
Mariuccia was turned out into the passage while he changed his dress.
De Pretis came back a moment later and tried to help him, but he was
so much overcome that he could only shed tears and give a last word of
advice for the next act.

"You must not sing it too loud, Nino mio," he said.

"Diavolo!" said Nino. "I should think not!"

"But you must not squeak it out in a little wee false voice, as small
as this"; the maestro held up his thumb and finger, with a pinch of
snuff between them.

"Bah? Sor Ercole, do you take me for a soprano?" cried the boy,
laughing, as he washed off the paint and the