and as the rich, clear tones of the girl dwelt on the lower notes, or rose with a birdlike gush to the higher ones, he could scarce restrain some display of his delight.  Such, however, it was not his policy to exhibit, and when at the close of the song, she timidly approached him, and, lifting her mandoline and large, sad eyes at the same time, besought him in broken Spanish to give her a single maravedi for pity’s sake, he coldly drew forth a few small coins and handed them to her.

“This is a poor way of earning your support,"’ answered he.

“I know it-but it is all the one I have.”

“It is a pity, for you seem to be an honest sort of a body, and perhaps with the assistance of friends you might be made something decent,” then without noticing the indignant flush that had risen to her check, he continued.  “Now I am willing to help you-that is, if you’re respectable and humble-minded, and I will let you sing in my theatre, although I am sure I shall lose by it.”

The first impulse of the young girl was to refuse with anger, the proposal offered almost in an insulting manner, by the hard, avaricious man, but a moment’s reflection showed her she could not afford to be particular in choosing the manners of an employer, and she replied: 

“Why are you willing to take a stranger who has no claims upon you, if you are certain you will be a loser by so doing?”

“Because, although I shall be at an extra expense for a while, I am in hopes you will repay it sometime,” he replied, with a scowl at being questioned.  “Come, what say you?”

“I am willing to better my condition, sir, and as for being humble in my manners, few are otherwise who have their living to earn,” replied the maiden, with a touch of haughtiness.

“Then come with me,” said Cartillos, leading the way to the house he had quitted a short time previous.  When they were seated, the manager commenced questioning his companion.

“It is rather a singular thing for a street musician to sing such songs as you do, and in such a manner,”—­then, after a pause, during which she did not volunteer any information on the subject, he renewed the attack, with, “You must have had some instruction.  Who was your teacher?”

“A countryman,” was the reply.

Baffled in this direction, Cartillos commenced in a fresh quarter.

“You are an Italian, I suppose?”

“I am.”

“Of what part are you a native?”

“Before I came to Havana, I resided in Naples.”

The manager bit his lip at the small amount of information he obtained, and commenced again.

“One of the troupe is ill, and I wish to obtain some one to supply her place-but I suppose you are unacquainted with any opera?”

“I will engage to perfect myself in any one within a week.”

“I cannot wait so long.  To-night is the evening I most desire your services,” Cartillos replied, in despair.