himself from his reverie, and stared at me.
"How should you be able to guess my thoughts?" he asked at last.
"People who have lived much together often read each other's minds.
What were you thinking of?" Nino sighed, and hesitated a moment before
he answered.
"I was thinking," he said, "that a musician's destiny, even the
highest, is a poor return for a woman's love."
"You see: I was thinking of you, and wondering whether, after all, you
will always be a singer."
"That is singular," he answered slowly. "I was reflecting how utterly
small my success on the stage will look to me when I have married
Hedwig von Lira."
"There is a larger stage, Nino mio, than yours."
"I know it," said he, and fell back in his chair again, dreaming.
I fancy that at any other time we might have fallen into conversation
and speculated on the good old-fashioned simile which likens life to a
comedy, or a tragedy, or a farce. But the moment was ill-chosen, and
we were both silent, being much preoccupied with the immediate future.
A little before ten I made up my mind to start. I glanced once more
round the room to see if I had left anything. Nino was still sitting
in his chair, his head bent, and his eyes staring at the floor.
"Nino," I said, "I am going now. Here is another candle, which you
will need before long, for these tallow things are very short."
Indeed, the one that burned was already guttering low in the old brass
candlestick. Nino rose and shook himself.
"My dear friend," he said, taking me by both hands, "you know that I
am grateful to you. I thank you and thank you again with all my heart.
Yes, you ought to go now, for the time is approaching. We shall join
you, if all goes well, by one o'clock."
"But, Nino, if you do not come?"
"I will come, alone, or with her. If--if I should not be with you by
two in the morning, go on alone, and get out of the way. It will be
because I am caught by that old Prussian devil. Good-bye." He embraced
me affectionately, and I went out. A quarter of an hour later I was
out of the town, picking my way, with my little donkey, over the
desolate path that leads toward the black Serra. The clatter of the
beast's hoofs over the stones kept time with the beatings of my heart,
and I pressed my thin legs close to his thinner sides for company.
When Nino was left alone,--and all this I know from him,--he sat again
in the chair and meditated; and although the time of the greatest
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