opening
out to you. On the other hand, the presentation of this letter, with
the chance of the Baron's patronage. If we could only have a peep into
that letter we should know better where we were."

"But that is impossible, Monsieur. We can only guess that the kind old
Papa has recommended me in the warmest terms."

"Yes, we may assume that. Then, I think, my young friend, there is
only one obvious course. You take that letter to the Baron. When he
has read it, he will either put you off with smooth promises, or
propose a certain line of action out of deference to his old friend's
request. If he should put before you any proposition that does not
recommend itself to you, you can easily decline and stick to your
present career."

The advice was sound and sensible. By presenting the letter to the
eminent financier there was nothing to lose. On the other hand, there
might be something to gain.

"Unfortunately, Monsieur, I do not know the Baron personally. I
understand he is a very busy man, and access to him a very difficult
matter."

"That is so," admitted Degraux. "I know him just a little. I dare say
you have heard that he is a great lover of music, and we have
exchanged a few words now and then. But I fear my acquaintance with
him would hardly excuse a formal note of introduction. But stay, you
know the Princess Zouroff and Lady Glendover, at whose house you
played lately. He is a friend of both. Either of these will give you
what you want. If not, come and see me again and I will think of
somebody I know fairly well, who will do it as a favour to me."

"Both these ladies occurred to me," said Nello. "The Princess is
kindness itself; I am sure she would do it at once. But, in case of
failure, I will fall back upon you."

With many thanks for his good advice, Nello took leave of the
warm-hearted director. Yes, Degraux was quite right. He would present
that letter as soon as possible. He would write to the Princess
Zouroff to-morrow.

But fate willed it that the Princess's good offices were not required.
He was playing that night at the house of a certain Mrs. Raby, who
lived in Kensington Gore.

Mrs. Raby was a widow of about fifty years of age, of good family and
considerable fortune of her own. When a romantic girl of twenty-two
she had eloped with a man some twenty years her senior, who happened
to be one of the greatest, if not absolutely the greatest, pianists of
his day. For a long time her parents a