afternoon, for he made the panes rattle with the little bits of lead,
several times. At last he was rewarded. Very slowly the window opened,
and Hedwig's voice spoke in a low tone:

"Is it you?"

"Ah, dear one! Can you ask?" began Nino.

"Hush! I am still locked up. We are going away,--I cannot tell where."

"When, dearest love?"

"I cannot tell. What _shall_ we do?" very tearfully. "I will follow
you immediately; only let me know when and where."

"If you do not hear by some other means, come here to-morrow night. I
hear steps. Go at once."

"Good-night, dearest," he murmured; but the window was already closed,
and the fresh breeze that springs up after one o'clock blew from the
air the remembrance of the loving speech that had passed upon it.

On the following night he was at his post, and again threw the shot
against the pane for a signal. After a long time Hedwig opened the
window very cautiously.

"Quick!" she whispered down to him, "go! They are all awake," and she
dropped something heavy and white. Perhaps she added some word, but
Nino would not tell me, and never would read me the letter. But it
contained the news that Hedwig and her father were to leave Rome for
Paris on the following morning; and ever since that night Nino has
worn upon his little finger a plain gold ring,--I cannot tell why, and
he says he found it.

The next day he ascertained from the porter of the Palazzo Carmandola
that the count and contessina, with their servants, had actually left
Rome that morning for Paris. From that moment he was sad as death, and
went about his business heavily, being possessed of but one idea,
namely, to sign an engagement to sing in Paris as soon as possible. In
that wicked city the opera continues through Lent, and after some
haggling, in which De Pretis insisted on obtaining for Nino the most
advantageous terms, the contract was made out and signed.

I see very well that unless I hurry myself I shall never reach the
most important part of this story, which is after all the only part
worth telling. I am sure I do not know how I can ever tell it so
quickly, but I will do my best, and you must have a little patience;
for though I am not old, I am not young, and Nino's departure for
Paris was a great shock to me, so that I do not like to remember it,
and the very thought of it sickens me. If you have ever had any
education, you must have seen an experiment in which a mouse is put in
a glass jar, and