Quinto Lalli fell in with the child one day in the dirty and miserable little town of Acquapendente, just on the Roman side of the frontier line dividing the Papal territory from Tuscany, as he was travelling from Florence to Rome.  He was travelling by the diligence, which always used to remain a good hour or more at Acquapendente, for the transaction of passport and dogana work.  There, strolling, for want of something better to do, through the dilapidated streets of the poverty-stricken little town,—­which in those days told the traveller most unmistakably how great was the difference between prosperous Tuscany, which he had just left, and the wretched Pope’s-land which he was entering—­Quinto Lalli heard a child’s voice, and instantly stopped and pricked up his ears.

Looking round, he saw a little creature, barely clad, happy amid the surrounding squalor, sitting with its little bare feet and legs dabbling in the sparkling water in the broken marble tank of a once magnificent fountain.  There she sate alone in the sunshine, and carolled, with wide-opened throat, like any other nature-made songster.

Quinto Lalli, with startled ear, listened attentively; got round to where he could see the child’s face; marked well, with knowing eye, the little brown feet and legs bare to the knee; and then determined to abandon the fare paid for the remainder of his diligence journey to Rome.

The business for the sake of which he made that sacrifice was easily and quickly done.  A bargain is not difficult when that which is coveted by one party is deemed a burden and encumbrance by the other.  And Quinto Lalli became the fortunate purchaser of the article of which he had so judiciously appreciated the value.

Quinto had his little purchase well and carefully educated—­educated her himself in a great measure, as far as her voice was concerned—­ and took care that every attention was paid, not only to her musical culture, and to the preservation and enhancement of her beauty—­ which, with great comfort as regarded the ultimate issue of his speculation, he saw every year that passed over her develop more and more—­but also to her intellectual cultivation.  For Lalli was a clever man enough to know, that if a stupid singer with a fine voice can charm so as to be worth a hundred, an intelligent singer with an equally fine voice, can charm so as to be worth two hundred.

And the old singing-master was good and kind to his pupil:  firstly, because he had no unkindness in his nature, and secondly, because it was in every way his interest to conciliate the girl.  She had been brought out at eighteen, and had now been nine years on the stage—­ nine years of success, which ought to have enriched both teacher and pupil.