“Until that time I had been an honest man,” he continued.  “I had toiled in honest ways to obtain support for my family and myself.  I had earnestly endeavored to make my knowledge profitable—­humble enough to be willing to teach for the lowest price, to offer my services everywhere.  But I could get no employment; people wanted no teacher of music; everywhere I was pitilessly turned away.  During the mournful years of war which had closed in upon us, no one wanted to spend his money for a useless art, which perhaps could be used only for dirges.  A music-teacher was the most unnecessary and useless of mortals, and the music-teacher felt this, and was ready to become wood-cutter, laborer, street-sweeper, anything to procure food for his sick wife, his only child, to brighten their impoverished, sorrowful lives with a ray of comfort.  But it was all in vain; the poor music-teacher found employment nowhere; he might have starved in the midst of the great city, surrounded by wealthy people who, with arrogant bearing, daily drove in brilliant equipages past him and his misery.  For his part, he would gladly have died, for what value could his wretched, pitiful life have to him!  But he had a daughter, the only creature whom he loved; she was his happiness, his hope, and his joy.  His daughter must not starve; must not suffer from the wretched needs of existence; must not crawl in the dust, while others, less beautiful, less good, less gifted, enjoyed life in luxury and splendor.  Chance betrayed an important secret to the poor musician.  He knew that on the one side a large sum would be paid for his silence, on the other for his speech.  He went and sold himself!  He went to warn some, to save others if it were possible.”

“I know,” she said, panting for breath.  “You are speaking of the assassination of the ambassadors in Rastadt.”

“Yes, Count Lehrbach’s valet, in a drunken spree, betrayed his master’s secret, so I learned the fine business, and could warn the envoys, could warn Lehrbach to take stronger precautions.  It was my first trial, and it was well paid.”

“The poor envoys paid for it with their lives,” she cried, shuddering.

“That was their own fault.  Why didn’t they listen to my warning?  Why didn’t they delay their departure until the following morning?  I knew that in the evening a whole detachment of Hussars was stationed on the highway which they must pass.  I told them so, and warned them.  But they did not believe me; they were reckless enough to set out, and I only succeeded in persuading them to burn their important papers and arm themselves.  True, this was useless.  They were butchered by the Hussars.  One alone, Jean Dubarry, escaped, and I may say that I saved him; for I discovered him in the tree up which he had climbed in his mortal terror, took him to a safe hiding-place, and informed the French authorities in Rastadt.  Yes, I saved his life, and therefore I can say that I began my new life with a good deed,