“Nino,” I asked, irrelevantly, following my own train of reflection, “have you ever thought of anything but music—­and love?” He roused himself from his reverie, and stared at me.

“How should you be able to guess my thoughts?” he asked at last.

“People who have lived much together often read each other’s minds.  What were you thinking of?” Nino sighed, and hesitated a moment before he answered.

“I was thinking,” he said, “that a musician’s destiny, even the highest, is a poor return for a woman’s love.”

“You see:  I was thinking of you, and wondering whether, after all, you will always be a singer.”

“That is singular,” he answered slowly.  “I was reflecting how utterly small my success on the stage will look to me when I have married Hedwig von Lira.”

“There is a larger stage, Nino mio, than yours.”

“I know it,” said he, and fell back in his chair again, dreaming.

I fancy that at any other time we might have fallen into conversation and speculated on the good old-fashioned simile which likens life to a comedy, or a tragedy, or a farce.  But the moment was ill-chosen, and we were both silent, being much preoccupied with the immediate future.

A little before ten I made up my mind to start.  I glanced once more round the room to see if I had left anything.  Nino was still sitting in his chair, his head bent, and his eyes staring at the floor.

“Nino,” I said, “I am going now.  Here is another candle, which you will need before long, for these tallow things are very short.”  Indeed, the one that burned was already guttering low in the old brass candlestick.  Nino rose and shook himself.

“My dear friend,” he said, taking me by both hands, “you know that I am grateful to you.  I thank you and thank you again with all my heart.  Yes, you ought to go now, for the time is approaching.  We shall join you, if all goes well, by one o’clock.”

“But, Nino, if you do not come?”

“I will come, alone, or with her.  If—­if I should not be with you by two in the morning, go on alone, and get out of the way.  It will be because I am caught by that old Prussian devil.  Good-bye.”  He embraced me affectionately, and I went out.  A quarter of an hour later I was out of the town, picking my way, with my little donkey, over the desolate path that leads toward the black Serra.  The clatter of the beast’s hoofs over the stones kept time with the beatings of my heart, and I pressed my thin legs close to his thinner sides for company.

When Nino was left alone,—­and all this I know from him,—­he sat again in the chair and meditated; and although the time of the greatest event in his life was very near, he was so much absorbed that he was startled when he looked at his watch and found that it was half-past eleven.  He had barely time to make his preparations.  His man was warned, but was waiting near the inn, not knowing where he