The count was seated in his great arm-chair, in a cloud of tobacco smoke, reading a Prussian military journal.  His stick leaned against the table by his side, in painful contrast with the glittering cavalry sabres crossed upon the dark red wall opposite.  The tall windows looked out on the piazza, and it was raining, or just beginning to rain.  The great inkstand on the table was made to represent a howitzer, and the count looked as though he were ready to fire it point blank at any intruder.  There was an air of disciplined luxury in the room that spoke of a rich old soldier who fed his fancy with tit-bits from a stirring past.  De Pretis felt very uncomfortable, but the nobleman rose to greet him, as he rose to greet everything above the rank of a servant, making himself steady with his stick.  When De Pretis was seated he sat down also.  The rain pattered against the window.

“Signor De Pretis,” began the count, in tones as hard as chilled steel, “you are an honourable man.”  There was something interrogative in his voice.

“I hope so,” answered the maestro modestly; “like other Christians, I have a soul—­”

“You will your soul take care of in your leisure moments,” interrupted the count.  “At present you have no leisure.”

“As you command, Signor Conte.”

“I was yesterday evening at the theatre.  The professor you recommended for my daughter is with the new tenor one person.”  De Pretis spread out his hands and bowed, as if to deprecate any share in the transaction.  The count continued, “You are of the profession, Signor De Pretis.  Evidently, you of this were aware.”

“It is true,” assented Ercole, not knowing what to say.

“Of course it is true.  I am therefore to hear your explanation disposed.”  His grey eyes fastened sternly on the maestro.  But the latter was prepared, for he had long foreseen that the count would one day be disposed to hear an explanation, as he expressed it.

“It is quite true,” repeated De Pretis.  “The young man was very poor, and desired to support himself while he was studying music.  He was well fitted to teach our literature, and I recommended him.  I hope that, in consideration of his poverty, and because he turned out a very good teacher, you will forgive me, Signor Conte.”

“This talented singer I greatly applaud,” answered the count stiffly.  “As a with-the-capac
ity-and-learning-requisite-for-teaching-endowed young man deserves he also some commendation.  Also will I remember his laudable-and-not-lacking independence character.  Nevertheless, unfitting would it be should I pay the first tenor of the opera five francs an hour to teach my daughter Italian literature.”  De Pretis breathed more freely.

“Then you will forgive me, Signor Conte, for endeavouring to promote the efforts of this worthy young man in supporting himself?”