other
understood what he said, he had left the room and run downstairs to the
old woman. Though seventy years old himself, the old nobleman carried to
the woman the gift she had come to receive, to spare her the pain of
walking any farther. This is only a trifling circumstance, but, like the
two mites given by the widow in the Bible, it wakes an echo in the
heart.

"These are subjects of which poets should write and sing, for they
soften and unite mankind into one brotherhood. But when a mere sprig of
humanity, because it has noble ancestors of good blood, rears up and
prances like an Arabian horse in the street or speaks contemptuously of
common people, then it is nobility in danger of decay--a mere pretense,
like the mask which Thespis invented. People are glad to see such
persons turned into objects of satire."

This was the tutor's speech--certainly rather a long one, but he had
been busily engaged in cutting the flute while he talked.

There was a large party at the Hall that evening. The grand salon was
crowded with guests--some from the neighborhood, some from the capital.
There was a bevy of ladies richly dressed with, and without, taste; a
group of the clergy from the adjoining parishes, in a corner together,
as grave as though met for a funeral. A funeral party it certainly was
not, however; it was meant for a party of pleasure, but the pleasure was
yet to come. Music and song filled the rooms, first one of the party
volunteering, then another. The little baron brought out his flute, but
neither he nor his father, who tried it after him, could make anything
of it. It was pronounced a failure.

"But you are a performer, too, surely," said a witty gentleman,
addressing the tutor. "You are of course a flute player as well as a
flute maker. You are a universal genius, I hear, and genius is quite the
rage nowadays--nothing like genius. Come now; I am sure you will be so
good as to enchant us by playing on this little instrument." He handed
it over, announcing in a loud voice that the tutor was going to favor
the company with a solo on the flute.

It was easy to see that these people wanted to make fun of him, and he
refused to play. But they pressed him so long and so urgently that at
last, in very weariness, he took the flute and raised it to his lips.

It was a strange flute! A sound issued from it, loud, shrill, and
vibrating, like that sent forth by a steam engine--nay, far louder. It
thrilled through th