all the air is drawn away with a pump, so that the
poor little beast languishes and rolls pitifully on its side, gasping
and wheezing with its tiny lungs for the least whiff of air. That is
just how I felt when Nino went away. It seemed as though I could not
breathe in the house or in the streets, and the little rooms at home
were so quiet that one might hear a pin fall, and the cat purring
through the closed doors. Nino left at the beginning of the last ten
days of Carnival, when the opera closed, so that it was soon Lent; and
everything is quieter then.

But before he left us there was noise enough and bustle of
preparation, and I did not think I should miss him; for he, always was
making music, or walking about, or doing something to disturb me just
at the very moment when I was most busy with my books. Mariuccia,
indeed, would ask me from time to time what I should do when Nino was
gone, as if she could foretell what I was to feel. I suppose she knew
I was used to him, after fourteen years of it, and would be inclined
to black humours for want of his voice. But she could not know just
what Nino is to me, nor how I look on him as my own boy. These
peasants are quick-witted and foolish; they guess a great many things
better than I could, and then reason on them like idiots.

Nino himself was glad to go. I could see his face grow brighter as the
time approached; and though he appeared to be more successful than
ever in his singing, I am sure that he cared nothing for the applause
he got, and thought only of singing as well as he could for the love
of it. But when it came to the parting we were left alone.

"Messer Cornelio," he said, looking at me affectionately, "I have
something to say to you to-night before I go away."

"Speak, then, my dear boy," I answered, "for no one hears us."

"You have been very good to me. A father could not have loved me
better, and such a father as I had could not have done a thousandth
part what you have done for me. I am going out into the world for a
time, but my home is here,--or rather, where my home is will always be
yours. You have been my father, and I will be your son; and it is time
you should give up your professorship. No, not that you are at all
old; I do not mean that."

"No, indeed," said I, "I should think not."

"It would be much more proper if you retired into an elegant leisure,
so that you might write as many books as you desire without wearing
yourself out in t