besides. My
son desires to become a musician. Is it possible?'

"'There is no reason why he should not be,' replied M. de Saint-Georges,
'provided he has a vocation.'

"'Vocation may mean obstinacy,' remarked my father. 'But let us suppose
the reverse--that obstinacy means vocation: how long would it take him
to prove that he has talent?'

"'It is difficult to say--five years at least.'

"'And two he has already spent at the Conservatoire will make seven. I
hope he will not be like Jacob, who, after that period of waiting, found
that they had given him the wrong goddess!' growled my father, who could
be grimly humorous when he liked. 'Five years more be it, then, but not
a single day longer. If by that time he has not made his mark, I
withdraw his allowance. I thank you for your advice; and now I will ask
a favour. Will you kindly supply my place--that is, keep an eye upon
him, and do the best you can for him? Remember, he is but twenty. It is
hard enough that I cannot make a soldier of him; from what I have heard
and from what I can see, you will prevent him from becoming less than a
gentleman.'

"M. de Saint-Georges was visibly moved. 'Let me hear what he can do,' he
said, 'and then I will tell you.'

"I sat down to the piano for more than an hour.

"'I will see that your son becomes a good musician, M. le Comte,' said
M. de Saint-Georges.

"Next morning my father went back to Germany. Nothing would induce him
to stay a single day. He said the atmosphere of Paris was vitiated.

"I need not tell you that M. de Saint-Georges kept his word as far as he
was able; he kept it even more rigorously than my father had bargained
for, because when, exactly on the last day of the stipulated five years,
I received a letter demanding my immediate return, and informing me that
my father's banker had instructions to stop all further supplies, M. de
Saint-Georges bade me stay.

"'I promised to make a musician of you, and I have kept my word. But
between a musician and an acknowledged musician there is a difference. I
say stay!' he exclaimed.

"'How am I to stay without money?'

"'You'll earn some.'

"'How?'

"'By giving piano-lessons, like many a poor artist has done before you.'

"I followed his advice, and am none the worse for the few years of
hardships. The contrast between my own poverty and my wealthy
surroundings was sufficiently curious during that time, and never more
so than on the night when my name rea