eaching those students every day. Would you not like
to go back to Serveti?"

"Serveti!--ah, beautiful, lost Serveti, with its castle and good
vine-lands!"

"You shall have it again before long, my father," he said. He had
never called me father before, the dear boy! I suppose it was because
he was going away. But Serveti again? The thing was impossible, and I
said so.

"It is not impossible," he answered, placidly. "Successful singers
make enough money in a year to buy Serveti. A year is soon passed. But
now let us go to the station, or I shall not be in time for the
train."

"God bless you, Nino mio," I said, as I saw him off. It seemed to me
that I saw two or three Ninos. But the train rolled away and took
them all from me,--the ragged little child who first came to me, the
strong-limbed, dark-eyed boy with his scales and trills and
enthusiasm, and the full-grown man with the face like the great
emperor, mightily triumphing in his art and daring in his love. They
were all gone in a moment, and I was left alone on the platform of the
station, a very sorrowful and weak old man. Well, I will not think
about that day.

The first I heard of Nino was by a letter he wrote me from Paris, a
fortnight after he had left me. It was characteristic of him, being
full of eager questions about home and De Pretis and Mariuccia and
Rome. Two things struck me in his writing. In the first place, he made
no mention of the count or Hedwig, which led me to suppose that he was
recovering from his passion, as boys do when they travel. And
secondly, he had so much to say about me that he forgot all about his
engagement, and never even mentioned the theatre. On looking carefully
through the letter again I found he had written across the top the
words, "Rehearsals satisfactory." That was all.

It was not long after the letter came, however, that I was very much
frightened by receiving a telegram, which must have cost several
francs to send all that distance. By this he told me that he had no
clue to the whereabouts of the Liras, and he implored me to make
inquiries and discover where they had gone. He added that he had
appeared in _Faust_ successfully. Of course he would succeed. If a
singer can please the Romans, he can please anybody. But it seemed to
me that if he had received a very especially flattering reception he
would have said so. I went to see De Pretis, whom I found at home over
his dinner. We put our heads together and deb