“Yes, if you like, and I will give you a handkerchief to wrap it up with,” said De Pretis, absently, but he did not get up from his seat.  He was watching Nino, and he seemed to be thinking.  Just as the boy was going with the instrument under his arm he called him back.

“Ebbene?” said Nino, with his hand on the lock of the door.

“I will make you a song to sing to your guitar,” said Ercole.

“You?”

“Yes—­but without music.  Look here, Nino—­sit down.  What a hurry you are in.  I was young myself, once upon time.”

“Once upon a time!  Fairy stories—­once upon a time there was a king, and so on.”  Nino was not to be easily pacified.

“Well, perhaps it is a fairy tale, but it is in the future.  I have an idea.”

“Oh, is that all?  But it is the first time.  I understand.”

Listen.  Have you read Dante?”

“I know the Vita Nuova by heart, and some of the Commedia.  But how the diavolo does Dante enter into this question?”

“And Silvio Pellico, and a little literature?” continued Ercole, not heeding the comment.

“Yes, after a fashion.  And you?  Do you know them?”

“Che c’entro io?” cried Ercole, impatiently; “what do I want to know such things for?  But I have heard of them.”

“I congratulate you,” replied Nino, ironically.

“Have patience.  You are no longer an artist.  You are a professor of literature.”

“I—­a professor of literature?  What nonsense are you talking?”

“You are a great stupid donkey, Nino.  Supposing I obtain for you an engagement to read literature with the Contessina di Lira, will you not be a professor?  If you prefer singing—­” But Nino comprehended in a flash the whole scope of the proposal, and threw his arm round Ercole’s neck and embraced him.

“What a mind!  Oh, maestro mio, I will die for you!  Command me, and I will do anything for you; I will run errands for you, black your boots, anything—­” he cried in the ecstasy of delight that overmastered him.

“Piano, piano,” objected the maestro, disengaging himself from his pupil’s embrace.  “It is not done yet.  There is much, much to think of first.”  Nino retreated, a little disconcerted at not finding his enthusiasm returned, but radiant still.

“Calm yourself,” said Ercole, smiling.  “If you do this thing you must act a part.  You must manage to conceal your occupation entirely.  You must look as solemn as an undertaker and be a real professor.  They will ultimately find you out, and throw you out of the window, and dismiss me for recommending you.  But that is nothing.”

“No,” said Nino, “that is of no importance.”  And he ran his fingers through his hair, and looked delighted.

“You shall know all about it this evening, or to-morrow—­”

“This evening, Sor Ercole, this evening, or I shall die.  Stay, let me go to the house with you, when you give your lesson, and wait for you at the door.”