exactly fitted to the verse—­but I must not anticipate.  The bird had only his head out of the shell, and I proceeded to pull off the rest of it!  Meantime Zerlina’s dance floated before my eyes, and, somehow, too, the view on the Gulf of Naples.  I heard the voices of the bridal couple, and the chorus of peasants, men and girls.”  Here Mozart gayly hummed the beginning of the song.  “Meantime my hands had done the mischief, Nemesis was lurking near, and suddenly appeared in the shape of the dreadful man in livery.  Had an eruption of Vesuvius suddenly destroyed and buried with its rain of ashes audience and actors, the whole majesty of Parthenope, on that heavenly day by the sea, I could not have been more surprised or horrified.  The fiend!  People do not easily make me so hot!  His face was as hard as bronze—­and very like the terrible Emperor Tiberius, too!  If the servant looks like that, thought I, what must His Grace the Count be!  But to tell the truth I counted—­and not without reason—­on the protection of the ladies.  For I overheard the fat hostess of the inn telling my wife, Constanze there, who is somewhat curious in disposition, all the most interesting facts about the family, and so I knew—­”

Here Madame Mozart had to interrupt him and give them most positive assurance that he was the one who asked the questions, and a lively and amusing discussion followed.

“However that may be,” he said at last, “I heard something about a favorite foster-daughter who, besides being beautiful, was goodness itself, and sang like an angel. ‘Per Dio!’ I said to myself, as I remembered that, ’that will help you out of your scrape!  Sit down and write out the song as far as you can, explain your behavior truthfully, and they will think it all a good joke.’  No sooner said than done!  I had time enough, and found a blank piece of paper—­and here is the result!  I place it in these fair hands, an impromptu wedding-song, if you will accept it!”

He held out the neatly written manuscript toward Eugenie, but the Count anticipated her, and quickly taking it himself, said:  “Have patience a moment longer, my dear!”

At his signal the folding-doors of the salon opened, and servants appeared, bringing in the fateful orange-tree, which they put at the foot of the table, placing on each side a slender myrtle-tree.  An inscription fastened to the orange-tree proclaimed it the property of Eugenie; but in front of it, upon a porcelain plate, was seen, as the napkin which covered it was lifted, an orange, cut in pieces, and beside it the count placed Mozart’s autograph note.

“I believe,” said the Countess, after the mirth had subsided, “that Eugenie does not know what that tree really is.  She does not recognize her old friend with all its fruit and blossoms.”

Incredulous, Eugenie looked first at the tree, then at her uncle.  “It isn’t possible,” she said; “I knew very well that it couldn’t be saved.”