Invited to the first floor by the glimmer of a lamp and a strong smell of cooking, he pushed a door which stood ajar and saw a room dingy with dirt and smoke, where a wench was busy laying a table for about twenty customers.  None of the guests had yet arrived.

After looking round the dimly lighted room where the paper was dropping in rags from the walls, the gentleman seated himself by a stove which was roaring and smoking in the corner.

Attracted by the noise the Count made in coming in and disposing of his cloak, the major-domo presently appeared.  Picture to yourself a lean, dried-up cook, very tall, with a nose of extravagant dimensions, casting about him from time to time, with feverish keenness, a glance that he meant to be cautious.  On seeing Andrea, whose attire bespoke considerable affluence, Signor Giardini bowed respectfully.

The Count expressed his intention of taking his meals as a rule in the society of some of his fellow-countrymen; he paid in advance for a certain number of tickets, and ingenuously gave the conversation a familiar bent to enable him to achieve his purpose quickly.

Hardly had he mentioned the woman he was seeking when Signor Giardini, with a grotesque shrug, looked knowingly at his customer, a bland smile on his lips.

“Basta!” he exclaimed. “Capisco.  Your Excellency has come spurred by two appetites.  La Signora Gambara will not have wasted her time if she has gained the interest of a gentleman so generous as you appear to be.  I can tell you in a few words all we know of the woman, who is really to be pitied.

“The husband is, I believe, a native of Cremona and has just come here from Germany.  He was hoping to get the Tedeschi to try some new music and some new instruments.  Isn’t it pitiable?” said Giardini, shrugging his shoulders.  “Signor Gambara, who thinks himself a great composer, does not seem to me very clever in other ways.  An excellent fellow with some sense and wit, and sometimes very agreeable, especially when he has had a few glasses of wine—­which does not often happen, for he is desperately poor; night and day he toils at imaginary symphonies and operas instead of trying to earn an honest living.  His poor wife is reduced to working for all sorts of people—­the women on the streets!  What is to be said?  She loves her husband like a father, and takes care of him like a child.

“Many a young man has dined here to pay his court to madame; but not one has succeeded,” said he, emphasizing the word.  “La Signora Marianna is an honest woman, monsieur, much too honest, worse luck for her!  Men give nothing for nothing nowadays.  So the poor soul will die in harness.