“Signor Cardegna”—­she called him in her soft voice.  He turned quickly, and stood facing her, his arms crossed.

“You look like Napoleon at Waterloo, when you stand like that,” she laughed.  He made no answer, waiting to see what she would do with her victory.  “It seems that you are sorry I have discovered you,” she added presently, looking down at her hands.

“Is that all?” he said, with a bitter sneer on his pale young face.

“Then, since you are sorry, you must have a reason for concealment,” she went on, as though reflecting on the situation.  It was deftly done, and Nino took heart.

“Signora,” he said, in a trembling voice, “it is natural that a man should wish to live.  I give lessons now, until I have appeared in public, to support myself.”

“Ah, I begin to understand,” said the baroness.  In reality she began to doubt, reflecting that if this were the whole truth Nino would be too proud—­or any other Italian—­to say it so plainly.  She was subtle, the baroness!

“And do you suppose,” he continued, “that if once the Conte de Lira had an idea that I was to be a public singer he would employ me as a teacher for his daughter?”

“No, but others might,” she objected.

“But not the count—­” Nino bit his lip, fearing he had betrayed himself.

“Nor the contessina,” laughed the baroness, completing the sentence.  He saw at a glance what she suspected, and instead of keeping cool grew angry.

“I came here, Signora Baronessa, not to be cross-examined, but to teach you Italian.  Since you do not desire to study, I will say good-morning.”  He took his hat and moved proudly to the door.

“Come here,” she said, not raising her voice, but still commanding.  He turned, hesitated, and came back.  He thought her voice was changed.  She rose and swept her silken morning-gown between the chairs and tables till she reached a deep divan on the other side of the room.  There she sat down.

“Come and sit beside me,” she said, kindly, and he obeyed in silence.

“Do you know what would have happened,” she continued, when he was seated, “if you had left me just now?  I would have gone to the Graf von Lira and told him that you were not a fit person to teach his daughter; that you are a singer, and not a professor at all; and that you have assumed this disguise for the sake of seeing his daughter.”  But I do not believe that she would have done it.

“That would have been a betrayal,” said Nino fiercely, looking away from her.  She laughed lightly.

“Is it not natural,” she asked, “that I should make inquiries about my Italian teacher before I begin lessons with him?  And if I find he is not what he pretends to be should I not warn my intimate friends?” She spoke so reasonably that he was fain to acknowledge that she was right.

“It is just,” he said, sullenly.  “But you have been very quick to make your inquiries, as you call them.”