“Why do you laugh like that?  I see nothing to laugh at.  It is very bitter and bad to hear all this that you say.  I would rather hear your music.  You are badly off, whether you believe in heaven or not.  For if you do, you are not likely to get there; and if you do not believe in it, you are a heretic, and will be burned for ever and ever.”

“Not so badly answered, for an artist; and in a few words, too,” said Benoni, approvingly.  “But, my dear boy, the trouble is that I shall not get to heaven either way, for it is my great misfortune to be already condemned to everlasting flames.”

“No one is that,” said Nino, gravely.

“There are some exceptions, you know,” said Benoni.

“Well,” answered the young man thoughtfully, “of course there is the Wandering Jew, and such tales, but nobody believes in him.”

“Good-night,” said Benoni.  “I am tired and most go to bed.”

Nino found his way out alone, but carefully noted the position of the palazzo before he went home through the deserted streets.  It was four in the morning.

CHAPTER XI

Early in the morning after Nino’s visit to Signor Benoni, De Pretis came to my house, wringing his hands and making a great trouble and noise.  I had not yet seen Nino, who was sound asleep, though I could not imagine why he did not wake.  But De Pretis was in such a temper that he shook the room and everything in it, as he stamped about the brick floor.  It was not long before he had told me the cause of his trouble.  He had just received a formal note from the Graf von Lira, inclosing the amount due to him for lessons, and dispensing with his services for the future.

Of course this was the result of the visit Nino had so rashly made; it all came out afterwards, and I will not now go through the details that De Pretis poured out, when we only half knew the truth.  The count’s servant who admitted Nino had pocketed the five francs as quietly as you please; and the moment the count returned he told him how Nino had come and had stayed three-quarters of an hour just as if it were an everyday affair.  The count, being a proud old man, did not encourage him to make further confidences, but sent him about his business.  He determined to make a prisoner of his daughter until he could remove her from Rome.  He accordingly confined her in the little suite of apartments that were her own, and set an old soldier, whom he had brought from Germany, as a body-servant, to keep watch at the outer door.  He did not condescend to explain even to Hedwig the cause of his conduct, and she, poor girl, was as proud as he, and would not ask why she was shut up, lest the answer should be a storm of abuse against Nino.  She cared not at all how her father had found out her secret, so long as he knew it, and she guessed that submission would be the best policy.