the poor Gambara, who quite
guilelessly went on eating Signor Giardini's _bocconi_, without thinking
of their flavor.

The Count opened the conversation on some trivial subject, but at the
first words he perceived that this brain, supposed to be infatuated on
one point, was remarkably clear on all others, and saw that it would be
far more important to enter into this very clever man's ideas than to
flatter his conceits.

The rest of the company, a hungry crew whose brain only responded to the
sight of a more or less good meal, showed much animosity to the luckless
Gambara, and waited only till the end of the first course, to give free
vent to their satire. A refugee, whose frequent leer betrayed ambitious
schemes on Marianna, and who fancied he could establish himself in her
good graces by trying to make her husband ridiculous, opened fire to
show the newcomer how the land lay at the table-d'hote.

"It is a very long time since we have heard anything about the opera on
'Mahomet'!" cried he, with a smile at Marianna. "Can it be that Paolo
Gambara, wholly given up to domestic cares, absorbed by the charms of
the chimney-corner, is neglecting his superhuman genius, leaving his
talents to get cold and his imagination to go flat?"

Gambara knew all the company; he dwelt in a sphere so far above them all
that he no longer cared to repel an attack. He made no reply.

"It is not given to everybody," said the journalist, "to have an
intellect that can understand Monsieur Gambara's musical efforts, and
that, no doubt, is why our divine maestro hesitates to come before the
worthy Parisian public."

"And yet," said the ballad-monger, who had not opened his mouth but
to swallow everything that came within his reach, "I know some men of
talent who think highly of the judgments of Parisian critics. I myself
have a pretty reputation as a musician," he went on, with an air of
diffidence. "I owe it solely to my little songs in _vaudevilles_, and
the success of my dance music in drawing-rooms; but I propose ere long
to bring out a mass composed for the anniversary of Beethoven's death,
and I expect to be better appreciated in Paris than anywhere else. You
will perhaps do me the honor of hearing it?" he said, turning to Andrea.

"Thank you," said the Count. "But I do not conceive that I am gifted
with the organs needful for the appreciation of French music. If you
were dead, monsieur, and Beethoven had composed the mass, I would no