"It is better to be merry than sad," replied Benoni. "In the course of
a long life I have found out that."

"You do not look so very old," said Nino. "How old are you?"

"That is a rude question," said his host, laughing. "But I will
improvise a piece of music for you." He took his violin, and stood up
before the broken pier-glass. Then he laid the bow over the strings
and struck a chord. "What is that?" he asked, sustaining the sound.

"The common chord of A minor," answered Nino immediately.

"You have a good ear," said Benoni, still playing the same notes, so
that the constant monotony of them buzzed like a vexatious insect in
Nino's hearing. Still the old man sawed the bow over the same strings
without change. On and on, the same everlasting chord, till Nino
thought he must go mad.

"It is intolerable; for the love of heaven, stop!" he cried, pushing
back his chair and beginning to pace the room. Benoni only smiled, and
went on as unchangingly as ever. Nino could bear it no longer, being
very sensitive about sounds, and he made for the door.

"You cannot get out,--I have the key in my pocket," said Benoni,
without stopping.

Then Nino became nearly frantic, and made at the Jew to wrest the
instrument from his hands. But Benoni was agile, and eluded him, still
playing vigorously the one chord, till Nino cried aloud, and sank in a
chair, entirely overcome by the torture, that seemed boring its way
into his brain like a corkscrew.

"This," said Benoni, the bow still sawing the strings, "is life
without laughter. Now let us laugh a little, and see the effect."

It was indeed wonderful. With his instrument he imitated the sound of
a laughing voice, high up above the monotonous chord: softly at first,
as though far in the distance; then louder and nearer, the sustaining
notes of the minor falling away one after the other and losing
themselves, as the merriment gained ground on the sadness; till
finally, with a burst of life and vitality of which it would be
impossible to convey any idea, the whole body of mirth broke into a
wild tarantella movement, so vivid and elastic and noisy that it
seemed to Nino that he saw the very feet of the dancers, and heard the
jolly din of the tambourine and the clattering, clappering click of
the castanets.

"That," said Benoni, suddenly stopping, "is life with laughter, be it
ever so sad and monotonous before. Which do you prefer?"

"You are the greatest artist in the worl