easier," answered Signor Minghetti. "I can go home."

You may imagine that this was not very pleasant for the great
Minghetti, who had probably never had such an experience in all his
life.

Count Arco, seeing the situation, and as a solution to the difficulty,
went across the street to the club, thinking that some one could be
found. Fortunately, he succeeded, and you may be sure the emergency
guest was only too delighted to make the fourteenth at _that_ table.

The Minghettis kindly and magnanimously overlooked the Count's want of
tact.

Liszt, as if he wished to make us forget this untimely incident, played
after dinner as he had never played before. But nothing could suppress
Count Ludolf--never mind where the _plats_ were, his feet continued to
get into them. Right in the middle of Liszt's most exquisite playing
our irrepressible host said, in a loud voice:

"If any one wishes to have a game of whist, there are tables in the
other room."

Liszt stopped short, but, seeing all our hands raised in holy horror at
the thought of exchanging him for a game of whist, consented amiably to
remain at the piano.

Liszt honored me by coming to my reception, brought by M. de
Keudell--Liszt is always brought. Imagine the delight of my friends who
came thus unexpectedly on the great Master. They made a circle around
him, trying to edge near enough to get a word with him. He was
extremely amiable and seemed pleased to create this manifestation of
admiration. (Can one ever have enough?) There are two young musical
geniuses here at the Villa Medici, both _premier prix de Rome_. One is
Gabriel Pierne, surnamed "_Le Bebe_" because he is so small and looks
so boyish--he really does not seem over fourteen years of age--and
another, Paul Vidal, who is as good a pianist as Pierne, but not such a
promising composer.

I asked Liszt if he would allow these two young artists to play some of
their compositions for him. Liszt kindly consented, and the appointed
day found them all in the _salon_. Liszt was enchanted (so he said);
but how many times has he said, clapping the delighted artist on the
shoulder, "_Mon cher, vous avez un tres grand talent.... Vous irez
loin; vous arriverez_," a great phrase! And then he would sit down at
the piano, saying with a smile, "Do you play this?" and play it and
crush him to atoms, and they would depart, having _la mort dans l'ame_,
and overwhelmed with their imperfections. Instead of encouraging the