are not a cloistered
monk, you are a man before the public; you win the admiration of many;
some women do not hesitate to show you their preference. To a woman
like Mildred that would be torture; she could not and would not
separate the professional artist from the lover or husband."

And Diotti, remembering Mildred's words, could not refute the old
man's statements.

"If you had known her mother as I did," continued the old man,
realizing his argument was making an impression on the violinist, "you
would see the agony in store for the daughter if she married a man
such as you, a public servant, a public favorite."

"I would live my life not to excite her suspicions or jealousy," said
the artist, with boyish enthusiasm and simplicity.

"Foolish fellow," retorted Sanders, skeptically; "women imagine, they
don't reason. A scented note unopened on the dressing table can cause
more unhappiness to your wife than the loss of his country to a king.
My advice to you is: do not marry; but if you must, choose one who is
more interested in your gastronomic felicity than in your marital
constancy."

Diotti was silent. He was pondering the words of his host. Instead of
seeing in Mildred a possibly jealous woman, causing mental misery, she
appeared a vision of single-hearted devotion. He felt: "To be loved by
such a one is bliss beyond the dreams of this world."

XII

A tipsy man is never interesting, and Sanders in that condition was no
exception. The old man arose with some effort, walked toward the
window and, shading his eyes, looked out. The snow was drifting, swept
hither and thither by the cutting wind that came through the streets
in great gusts. Turning to the violinist, he said, "It's an awful
night; better remain here until morning. You'll not find a cab; in
fact, I will not let you go while this storm continues," and the old
man raised the window, thrusting his head out for an instant. As he
did so the icy blast that came in settled any doubt in the young man's
mind and he concluded to stop over night.

It was nearly two o'clock; Sanders showed him to his room and then
returned down stairs to see that everything was snug and secure. After
changing his heavy shoes for a pair of old slippers and wrapping a
dressing gown around him, the old man stretched his legs toward the
fire and sipped his toddy.

"He isn't a bad sort for a violinist," mused the old man; "if he were
worth a million, I believe I'd adv