“Fortunate contessina!” laughed the baroness, mockingly, without turning round.

“It does not concern you, signora, to know whom I love, nor, if you know, to speak of her.  I ask you a simple question.  If you loved a man with your whole soul and heart, would you allow another man to stand beside you and stroke your hair, and say it was curly?” The baroness burst out laughing.  “Do not laugh,” he continued.  “Remember that I am in your power only so long as it pleases me to submit to you.  Do not abuse your advantage, or I will be capable of creating for myself situations quite as satisfactory as that of Italian master to the Signorina di Lira.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, turning suddenly upon him.  “I suppose you would tell me that you will make advantages for yourself which you will abuse against me?  What do you mean?”

“I do not mean that.  I mean only that I may not wish to give lessons to the contessina much longer.”  By this time the baroness had recovered her equanimity; and as she would have been sorry to lose Nino, who was a source of infinite pleasure and amusement to her, she decided to pacify him instead of teasing him any more.

“Is it not very foolish for us to quarrel about your curly hair?” said she.  “We have been such good friends always.”  It might have been three weeks, her “always.”

“I think it is,” answered Nino, gravely.  “But do not stroke my hair again, Signora Baronessa, or I shall be angry.”  He was quite serious, if you believe it, though he was only twenty.  He forthwith sat down to the piano again and sang on.  The baroness sat very silent and scarcely looked at him; but she held her hands clasped on her knee, and seemed to be thinking.  After a time Nino stopped singing and sat silent also, absently turning over the sheets of music.  It was warm in the room, and the sounds from the street were muffled and far away.

“Signor Nino,” said the lady at last, in a different voice, “I am married.”

“Yes, signora,” he replied, wondering what would come next.

“It would be very foolish of me to care for you.”

“It would also be very wicked,” he said, calmly; for he is well grounded in religion.  The baroness stared at him in some surprise, but seeing he was perfectly serious, she went on.

“Precisely, as you say, very wicked.  That being the case, I have decided not to care for you any more—­I mean not to care for you at all.  I have made up my mind to be your friend.”

“I am much obliged to your ladyship,” he answered, without moving a muscle.  For you see, he did not believe her.

“Now tell me, then, Signor Nino, are you in earnest in what you are doing?  Do you really set your heart on doing this thing?”

“What?” asked Nino, annoyed at the persistence of the woman.

“Why need you be afraid to understand me?  Can you not forgive me?  Can you not believe in me that I will be your friend?  I have always dreamed of being the friend of a great artist.  Let me be yours, and believe me, the thing you have in your heart shall be done.”