The message on the handkerchief that Nino had received the night before warned him to keep away from the Palazzo Carmandola.  Nino reflected that this warning was probably due to Hedwig’s anxiety for his personal safety, and he resolved to risk anything rather than remain in ignorance of her destination.  It must be a case of giving some signal.  But this evening he had to sing at the theatre, and, therefore, without more ado, he left us, and went to bed again, where he stayed until twelve o’clock.  Then he went to rehearsal, arriving an hour behind time, at least, a matter which he treated with the coolest indifference.  After that he got a pound of small shot, and amused himself with throwing a few at a time at the kitchen window from the little court at the back of our house, where the well is.  It seemed a strangely childish amusement for a great singer.

Having sung successfully through his opera that night, he had supper with us, as usual, and then went out.  Of course he told me afterwards what he did.  He went to his old post under the windows of the Palazzo Carmandola, and as soon as all was dark he began to throw small shot up at Hedwig’s window.  He now profited by his practice in the afternoon, for he made the panes rattle with the little bits of lead, several times.  At last he was rewarded.  Very slowly the window opened, and Hedwig’s voice spoke in a low tone: 

“Is it you?”

“Ah, dear one!  Can you ask?” began Nino.

“Hush!  I am still locked up.  We are going away,—­I cannot tell where.”

“When, dearest love?”

“I cannot tell.  What shall we do?” very tearfully.  “I will follow you immediately; only let me know when and where.”

“If you do not hear by some other means, come here to-morrow night.  I hear steps.  Go at once.”

“Good-night, dearest,” he murmured; but the window was already closed, and the fresh breeze that springs up after one o’clock blew from the air the remembrance of the loving speech that had passed upon it.

On the following night he was at his post, and again threw the shot against the pane for a signal.  After a long time Hedwig opened the window very cautiously.

“Quick!” she whispered down to him, “go!  They are all awake,” and she dropped something heavy and white.  Perhaps she added some word, but Nino would not tell me, and never would read me the letter.  But it contained the news that Hedwig and her father were to leave Rome for Paris on the following morning; and ever since that night Nino has worn upon his little finger a plain gold ring,—­I cannot tell why, and he says he found it.

The next day he ascertained from the porter of the Palazzo Carmandola that the count and contessina, with their servants, had actually left Rome that morning for Paris.  From that moment he was sad as death, and went about his business heavily, being possessed of but one idea, namely, to sign an engagement to sing in Paris as soon as possible.  In that wicked city the opera continues through Lent, and after some haggling, in which De Pretis insisted on obtaining for Nino the most advantageous terms, the contract was made out and signed.