She did not appear to hear the gallant cornet’s denial that he cared particularly for that song.

“What I meant was,—­that gentleman speaks—­I have fought for Italy; I am an English hero and have fought for Italy, because of an Italian child; but now I am wounded and a prisoner.  When you shoot me, cruel Austrians, I shall hear her voice and think of nothing else, so you cannot hurt me.”

Emilia turned spitefully on herself at this close.  “How I spoil it!  My words are always stupid, when I feel.—­Well, now my mother and I were quite peaceful, and my father was better fed.  One night he brought home a Jew gentleman, beautifully dressed, with diamonds all over him.  He sparkled like the Christmas cakes in pastry-cooks” windows.  I sang to him, and he made quite a noise about me.  But the man made me so uncomfortable, touching my shoulders, and I could not bear his hands, even when he was praising me.  I sang to him till the landlady made me leave off, because of the other lodgers who wanted to sleep.  He came every evening; and then said I should sing at a concert.  It turned out to be a public-house, and my father would not let me go; but I was sorry; for in public the man could not touch me as he did.  It damped the voice!”

“I should like to know where that fellow lives,” cried the cornet.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” she said.  “He lends money.  Do you want any?  I heard your sisters say something, one day.  You can always have all that I have, you know.”

A quick spirit of pity and honest kindness went through Wilfrid’s veins and threatened to play the woman with his eyes, for a moment.  He took her hand and pressed it.  She put her lips to his fingers.

“Once,” she continued, “when the Jew gentleman had left, I spoke to my father of his way with me, and then my father took me on his knee, and the things he told me of what that man felt for me made my mother come and tear me away to bed.  I was obliged to submit to the Jew gentleman patting and touching me always.  He used to crush my dreams afterwards!  I know my voice was going.  My father was so eager for me to please him, I did my best; but I felt dull, and used to sit and shake my head at my harp, crying; or else I felt like an angry animal, and could have torn the strings.

“Think how astonished I was when my mother came to me to say my father had money in his pockets!—­one pound, seventeen shillings, she counted:  and he had not been playing!  Then he brought home a new violin, and he said to me, ’I shall go; I shall play; I am Orphee, and dinners shall rise!’ I was glad, and kissed him; and he said, ’This is Sandra’s gift to me,’ showing the violin.  I only knew what that meant two days afterwards.  Is a girl not seventeen fit to be married?”

With this abrupt and singular question she had taken an indignant figure, and her eyes were fiery:  so that Wilfrid thought her much fitter than a minute before.