I have discovered you, and I have a right to you, do you see? It is
fortunate for you that I like you."

"You! You like me? In truth, you act as though you did! Besides, you
are a stranger, Signora Baronessa, and a great lady. I never saw you
till yesterday." But he resumed his seat.

"Good," said she. "Is not the Signorina Edvigia a great lady, and was
there never a day when she was a stranger too?"

"I do not understand your caprices, signora. In fine, what do you want
of me?"

"It is not necessary that you should understand me," answered the
dark-eyed baroness. "Do you think I would hurt you--or rather your
voice?"

"I do not know."

"You know very well that I would not; and as for my caprices, as you
call them, do you think it is a caprice to love music? No, of course
not. And who loves music loves musicians; at least," she added, with a
most enchanting smile, "enough to wish to have them near one. That is
all. I want you to come here often and sing to me. Will you come and
sing to me, my little tenor?"

Nino would not have been human had he not felt the flattery through
the sting. And I always say that singers are the vainest kind of
people.

"It is very like singing in a cage," he said, in protest. Nevertheless,
he knew he must submit; for, however narrow his experience might be,
this woman's smile and winning grace, even when she said the hardest
things, told him that she would have her own way. He had the sense to
understand, too, that whatever her plans might be, their object was to
bring him near to herself, a reflection which was extremely soothing
to his vanity.

"If you will come and sing to me--only to me, of course, for I would
not ask you to compromise your _debut_--but if you will come and sing
to me, we shall be very good friends. Does it seem to you such a
terrible penance to sing to me in my solitude?"

"It is never a penance to sing," said Nino simply. A shade of
annoyance crossed the baroness' face.

"Provided," she said, "it entails nothing. Well, we will not talk
about the terms."

They say women sometimes fall in love with a voice: _vox et proeterea
nihil_, as the poet has it. I do not know whether that is what
happened to the baroness at first, but it has always seemed strange to
me that she should have given herself so much trouble to secure Nino,
unless she had a very strong fancy for him. I, for my part, think that
when a lady of her condition takes such a sudden caprice int