to one of his men. "Once in the street he mentions, he will soon
recognize the house. You can go up with him and question the man."

The three of us started. As the officer had said, we found the street
and the house. We went up to the fourth floor. I did not see Mattia. He
had probably been taken off to the hospital. Upon seeing the officer and
recognizing me, Garofoli paled and looked frightened, but he soon
recovered himself when he learned that they had only come to question
him about Vitalis.

"So the old fellow is dead?" he said.

"You know him? Well, tell us all you can about him."

"There is not much to tell. His name was not Vitalis. He was Carlo
Balzini, and if you had lived thirty-five or forty years ago in Italy,
that name alone would tell you all you want to know. Carlo Balzini was
the greatest singer of the day. He sang in Naples, Rome, Milan, Venice,
Florence, London and Paris. Then came the time when he lost his
magnificent voice, and as he could not be the greatest of singers, he
would not dim his fame by singing on cheaper stages unworthy of his
great reputation. Instead he preferred to hide himself from the world
and from all who had known him in his triumph. Yet he had to live. He
tried several professions, but could not succeed, then finally he took
to training dogs. But in his poverty he was still very proud and he
would have died of shame if the public could have known that the
brilliant Carlo Balzini had sunk to the depths he had. It was just a
matter of chance that I learned his secret."

Poor Carlo Balzini; dear, dear Vitalis!

CHAPTER XIX

DISASTER

Vitalis had to be buried the next day, and M. Acquin promised to take me
to the funeral. But the next day I could not rise from my bed, for in
the night I was taken very ill. My chest seemed to burn like poor little
Pretty-Heart's after he had spent the night in the tree. The doctor was
called in. I had pneumonia. The doctor wanted me sent to the hospital,
but the family would not hear of it. It was during this illness that I
learned to appreciate Etiennette's goodness. She devoted herself to
nursing me. How good and kind she was during that terrible sickness.
When she was obliged to leave me to attend to her household duties, Lise
took her place, and many times in my delirium I saw little Lise sitting
at the foot of my bed with her big eyes fixed on me anxiously. In my
delirium I thought that she was my guardian angel, and I would