surprise for my wife; she will see
her father, her sister, her brothers, her aunt. Only my mother and
brother are in the secret. One will be missing from this feast. Alas!
poor master! poor Vitalis! I could not do much for you in life, but at
my request, my mother has had erected a marble tomb and placed your
bust, the bust of Carlo Balzini, upon the tomb. A copy of this bust is
before me now as I write, and often while penning my "Memoirs," I have
looked up and my eyes have caught yours. I have not forgotten you; I
shall never forget you, dear master, dear Vitalis.

Here comes my mother leaning on my brother's arm, for it is now the son
who supports the mother, for Arthur has grown big and strong. A few
steps behind my mother comes an old woman dressed like a French peasant
and carrying in her arms a little baby robed in a white pelisse. It is
dear Mother Barberin, the little baby is my son Mattia.

Arthur brings me a copy of the _Times_ and points to a correspondence
from Vienna which states that Mattia, the great musician, has completed
his series of concerts, and that, in spite of his tremendous success in
Vienna, he is returning to England to keep an engagement which cannot be
broken. I did not need to read the article for, although all the world
now calls Mattia the Chopin of the violin, I have watched him develop
and grow. When we were all three working together under the direction of
our tutors, Mattia made little progress in Latin and Greek, but quickly
outstripped his professors in music. Espinassous, the barber-musician of
Mendes, had been right.

A footman brings me a telegram:

"Sea very rough! Alas! Have been very ill, but managed to stop on
my way at Paris for Christina. Shall be with you at 4 o'clock. Send
carriage to meet us. MATTIA."

Mentioning Christina, I glanced at Arthur, but he turned away his eyes.
I knew that Arthur loved Mattia's little sister, and I knew that in
time, although not just yet, my mother would become reconciled to the
match. Birth was not everything. She had not opposed my marriage, and
later, when she saw that it was for Arthur's happiness, she would not
oppose his.

Lise comes down the gallery, my beautiful wife. She passes her arm round
my mother's neck.

"Mother dear," she said, "there is some secret afoot and I believe that
you are in the plot. I know if it is a surprise and you are in it, it is
something for our happiness, but I am none the les