not so far. You will it repeat. So shall we
know." Nino passed his hand inside his collar as though to free his
throat, and began again, losing all consciousness of his tormentor in
his own enjoyment of the verse.

"When was the Signor Alighieri born?" inquired Graf von Lira, very
suddenly, as though to catch him.

"May 1265, in Florence," answered the other, as quickly.

"I said when, not where. I know he was in Florence born. When _and_
where died he?" The question was asked fiercely.

"Fourteenth of September 1321, at Ravenna."

"I think really you something of Signor Alighieri know," said the
count, and shut up the volume of the poet and the dictionary of dates
he had been obliged to consult to verify Nino's answers. "We will
proceed."

Nino is fortunately one of those people whose faculties serve them
best at their utmost need, and during the three hours--three blessed
hours--that Graf von Lira kept him under his eye, asking questions and
forcing him to repeat all manner of things, he acquitted himself
fairly well.

"I have now myself satisfied that you something know," said the count,
in his snappish military fashion, and he shut the last book, and never
from that day referred in any manner to Nino's extent of knowledge,
taking it for granted that he had made an exhaustive investigation.
"And now," he continued, "I desire you to engage for the reading of
literature with my daughter, upon the usual terms." Nino was so much
pleased that he almost lost his self-control, but a moment restored
his reflection.

"I am honoured--" he began.

"You are not honoured at all," interrupted the count, coldly. "What
are the usual terms?"

"Three or four francs a lesson," suggested Nino.

"Three or four francs are not the usual terms. I have inquiries made.
Five francs are the usual terms. Three times in the week, at eleven.
You will on the morrow begin. Allow me to offer you some cigars." And
he ended the interview.

CHAPTER IV

In a sunny room overlooking the great courtyard of the Palazzo
Carmandola, Nino sat down to give Hedwig von Lira her first lesson in
Italian literature. He had not the remotest idea what the lesson would
be like, for in spite of the tolerably wide acquaintance with the
subject which he owed to my care and my efforts to make a scholar of
him, he knew nothing about teaching. Nevertheless, as his pupil spoke
the language fluently, though with the occasional use of words of low
orig