Our good friend Ludolf, as Liszt’s ambassador, asked the abbe—­who has a great respect for “the powers that be”—­to a beautiful dinner, to which we were invited, the Minghettis, the Keudells, and four others—­making twelve in all.  Madame Minghetti accepted for herself, but excused her husband, who she said was not to be in Rome that evening.  Count Ludolf asked M. de Pitteurs (the Belgian Minister) to fill Minghetti’s place.

Five minutes before dinner was announced, in came Madame Minghetti with Monsieur Minghetti.

“What!” cried the Count.  “I did not expect you!  Why did you not send me word that you were coming?  We shall be thirteen at table, and that will never do.”

Both M. and Mme. Minghetti were very much embarrassed.

“There is nothing easier,” answered Signor Minghetti.  “I can go home.”

You may imagine that this was not very pleasant for the great Minghetti, who had probably never had such an experience in all his life.

Count Arco, seeing the situation, and as a solution to the difficulty, went across the street to the club, thinking that some one could be found.  Fortunately, he succeeded, and you may be sure the emergency guest was only too delighted to make the fourteenth at that table.

The Minghettis kindly and magnanimously overlooked the Count’s want of tact.

Liszt, as if he wished to make us forget this untimely incident, played after dinner as he had never played before.  But nothing could suppress Count Ludolf—­never mind where the plats were, his feet continued to get into them.  Right in the middle of Liszt’s most exquisite playing our irrepressible host said, in a loud voice: 

“If any one wishes to have a game of whist, there are tables in the other room.”

Liszt stopped short, but, seeing all our hands raised in holy horror at the thought of exchanging him for a game of whist, consented amiably to remain at the piano.

Liszt honored me by coming to my reception, brought by M. de Keudell—­Liszt is always brought.  Imagine the delight of my friends who came thus unexpectedly on the great Master.  They made a circle around him, trying to edge near enough to get a word with him.  He was extremely amiable and seemed pleased to create this manifestation of admiration. (Can one ever have enough?) There are two young musical geniuses here at the Villa Medici, both premier prix de Rome.  One is Gabriel Pierne. surnamed “Le Bebe” because he is so small and looks so boyish—­he really does not seem over fourteen years of age—­and another, Paul Vidal, who is as good a pianist as Pierne, but not such a promising composer.