But De Pretis thinks differently.  He believes that a man may be the son of a ciociaro—­a fellow who ties his legs up in rags and thongs, and lives on goats’ milk in the mountains—­and that if he has brains enough, or talent enough, he may marry any woman he likes without ever thinking whether she is noble or not.  De Pretis must be old-fashioned, for I am sure I do not think in that way, and I know a hundred times as much as he—­a hundred times.

I suppose it must have been the very day when Nino had been to De Pretis in the morning that he had instructions to go to the house of Count von Lira on the morrow; for I remember very well that Nino acted strangely in the evening, singing and making a noise for a few minutes, and then burying himself in a book.  However that may be, it was very soon afterwards that he went to the Palazzo Carmandola, dressed in his best clothes, he tells me, in order to make a favourable impression on the count.  The latter had spoken to De Pretis about the lessons in literature, to which he attached great importance, and the maestro had turned the idea to account for his pupil.  But Nino did not expect to see the young contessa on this first day, or at least he did not hope he would be able to speak to her.  And so it turned out.

The footman, who had a red waistcoat, and opened the door with authority, as if ready to close it again on the smallest provocation, did not frighten Nino at all, though he eyed him suspiciously enough, and after ascertaining his business departed to announce him to the count.  Meanwhile, Nino, who was very much excited at the idea of being under the same roof with the object of his adoration, set himself down on one of the carved chests that surrounded the hall.  The green baize door at the other end swung noiselessly on its hinges, closing itself behind the servant, and the boy was left alone.  He might well be frightened, if not at the imposing appearance of the footman, at least at the task he had undertaken.  But a boy like Nino is afraid of nothing when he is in love, and he simply looked about him, realising that he was without doubt in the house of a gran’ signor, and from time to time brushing a particle of dust from his clothes, or trying to smooth his curly black hair, which he had caused to be clipped a little for the occasion; a very needless expense, for he looks better with his hair long.

Before many moments the servant returned, and with some condescension said that the count awaited him.  Nino would rather have faced the mayor, or the king himself, than Graf von Lira, though he was not at all frightened—­he was only very much excited, and he strove to calm himself, as he was ushered through the apartments to the small sitting-room where he was expected.