erly dressed in a black
velvet coat with purple silk facings, and wore a plain broad collar of
linen instead of the fashionable lace; he was a man of middle height and
well made, and he moved easily. In his left hand he carried a musical
instrument in a purple bag.

[Illustration: '"This is the celebrated Maestro Alessandro Stradella of
Naples"']

He bowed very low as soon as the Senator stood still before Ortensia.

'This,' said the master of the house, 'is the celebrated Maestro
Alessandro Stradella of Naples, by far the greatest musician and
composer in Italy, who has very kindly consented to hear you sing, and
to give you a few lessons if he finds you sufficiently advanced.'

Ortensia was surprised, and anything but displeased, but she showed no
emotion. The young man before her was the composer of the song she had
been studying, the very one that had so strongly disturbed her a few
minutes ago; this of itself would have been interesting, even if he had
not been such a singularly handsome young man.

The woman in grey, who was her nurse, had risen too, and was looking at
the musician with more curiosity than might have been expected in a
sober person of her years.

Ortensia bent her head a little, in acknowledgment of the introduction,
but said nothing. She saw, however, that Stradella had already noticed
the manuscript of his own music on the stool beside her.

'You may sing "Amor mi dice" to the Maestro,' said the Senator, taking a
seat. 'A little composition of my own,' he added, with a self-satisfied
smile, for the musician's information. 'I have taught it to my niece
myself.'

For one instant Stradella's eyes met the young girl's and she returned
their glance. It was enough; they already understood each other.
Doubtless the composer had met his patron more than once and knew his
weakness and what to expect now. Ortensia resumed her seat, and drew her
full skirt into folds on her knee, for her lute to rest on. Stradella
sat down at a little distance and looked at the Persian carpet, and she
could not help seeing that he had remarkably well-turned legs and
ankles, and wore very well-made shoes of soft purple leather with
handsome chiselled silver buckles. She felt inclined to raise her eyes
to his face again, but resisted the temptation, and turned resolutely
towards her uncle as she struck the opening chords of the accompaniment.

The musician now looked up and watched her. At first he put on the
amia