“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 origin, like all foreigners who have grown up in Rome and have learned to speak from their servants, he anticipated little difficulty.  He felt quite sure of being able to interpret the hard places, and he had learned from me to know the best and finest passages in a number of authors.

But imagine the feelings of a boy of twenty, perfectly in love, without having the smallest right to be, suddenly placed by the side of the object of his adoration, and told to teach her all he knows—­with her father in the next room and the door open between!  I have always thought it was a proof of Nino’s determined character, that he should have got over this first lesson without accident.

Hedwig von Lira, the contessina, as we always call her, is just Nino’s age, but she seemed much younger, as the children of the North always do.  I have told you what she was like to look at, and you will not wonder that I called her a statue.  She looked as cold as a statue, just as I said, and so I should hardly describe her as beautiful.  But then I am not a sculptor, nor do I know anything about those arts, though I can tell a good work when I see it.  I do not wish to appear prejudiced, and so I will not say anything more about it.  I like life in living things, and sculptors may, if it please them, adore straight noses, and level brows, and mouths that no one could possibly eat with.  I do not care in the least, and if you say that I once thought differently, I answer that I do not wish to change your opinion, but that I will change my own as often as I please.  Moreover, if you say that the contessina did not act like a statue in the sequel, I will argue that if you put marble in the fire it will take longer to heat and longer to cool than clay; only clay is made to be put into the fire, and marble is not.  Is not that a cunning answer?

The contessina is a foreigner in every way, although she was born under our sun.  They have all sorts of talents, these people, but so little ingenuity in using them that they never accomplish anything.  It seems to amuse them to learn to do a great many things, although they must know from the beginning that they can never excel in any one of them.  I dare say the contessina plays on the piano very creditably, for even Nino says she plays well; but is it of any use to her?