Meanwhile Wolf was hurriedly attending to his outer man.

Massi had stretched himself on the thin cushion which covered the seat of the wooden bench in the bay-window, and thrust his feet far out in front of him.

As he watched the Ratisbon knight diligently use the little hand mirror while arranging his smooth, fair locks, he straightened himself, saying: 

“No offence, Sir Knight, but when I think of the radiant face with which you gazed down into the valley of the Danube from the hill where you stopped before sunset, and now see how zealously you are striving to adorn your person, it seems to me that there must be in this good city some one for whom you care more than for all you left behind in Brussels.  At your age, that is a matter of course, if there is a woman in the case, as I suppose.  I know very well what I should do if I were in your place.  Longing often urges me back to Spain like a scourge.  I have already told you why I left my dear wife there in our home.  A few more years in the service, and our savings and the pension together will be enough to support us there and lay aside a little marriage dowry for our daughter.  When I have what is necessary, I shall turn my back on the orchestra and the court of Brussels that very day, dear as music is to me, and sure as I am that I shall never again find a leader like our Gombert.  You do not yet know with how sharp a tooth yearning rends the soul of the man whom Fate condemns to live away from his family.  This place is your home, and dearer to you than any other, so build yourself a snug nest here with the person you have in mind.”

“How gladly I would do so!” replied the young knight, “but whether I can must be decided within the next few davs.”

“Inde-e-ed?” drawled Massi; then he bent his eyes thoughtfully upon the floor for a short time, and, after calling Wolf by name in a tone of genuine friendly affection, he frankly added:  “Surely you know how dear a comrade you are to me!  Yet precisely for that reason I stick to my counsel.  It’s not only on account of the homesickness—­I am, thinking rather of your position at court—­and, let me speak candidly, it is unworthy of a nobleman and a musician of such ability.  The regent is graciously disposed toward you, and you praise her liberality, but do you yourself know the name of the office which you fill?  More than enough is placed upon you, and yet, so far as I see, nothing complete.  They understand admirably how to make use of you.  It would be well if that applied solely to the musician.  But sometimes she makes you secretary, and you have to waste whole days in writing letters and do penance for having learned so many languages; sometimes you must share in the folly of arranging performances, and your wealth of knowledge is industriously utilized in preparing mythological figures and devising new ideas for the exhibitions at which we have to furnish the music.  This affords plenty of labour, but