oung countess, and
the very first morning--the day after we had been to St. Peter's--he
went out at half-past six, though it was only just sunrise, for we
were in October. I knew very well that he was going for his extra
lesson with De Pretis, but I had nothing to say about it, and I only
recommended him to cover himself well, for the sirocco had passed and
it was a bright morning, with a clear tramontana wind blowing fresh
from the north. I can always tell when it is a tramontana wind before
I open my window, for Mariuccia makes such a clattering with the
coffee-pot in the kitchen, and the goldfinch in the sitting-room sings
very loud; which he never does if it is cloudy. Nino, then, went off
to Maestro Ercole's house for his singing, and this is what happened
there.

De Pretis knew perfectly well that Nino had only asked for the extra
lesson in order to get a chance of talking about the Contessina di
Lira, and so, to tease him, as soon as he appeared, the maestro made a
great bustle about singing scales, and insisted on beginning at once.
Moreover, he pretended to be in a bad humour; and that is always
pretence with him.

"Ah, my little tenor," he began; "you want a lesson at seven in the
morning, do you? That is the time when all the washerwomen sing at the
fountain! Well, you shall have a lesson, and by the body of Bacchus it
shall be a real lesson! Now, then! Andiamo--Do-o-o!" and he roared out
a great note that made the room shake, and a man who was selling
cabbage in the street stopped his hand-cart and mimicked him for five
minutes.

"But I am out of breath, maestro," protested Nino, who wanted to talk.

"Out of breath? A singer is never out of breath. Absurd! What would
you do if you got out of breath, say, in the last act of _Lucia_,
so--Bell'alma ado--?? Then your breath ends, eh? Will you stay with
the 'adored soul' between your teeth? A fine singer you will make!
Andiamo! Do-o-o!"

Nino saw he must begin, and he set up a shout, much against his will,
so that the cabbage-vendor chimed in, making so much noise that the
old woman who lives opposite opened her window and emptied a great
dustpan full of potato peelings and refuse leaves of lettuce right on
his head. And then there was a great noise. But the maestro paid no
attention, and went on with the scale, hardly giving Nino time to
breathe. Nino, who stood behind De Pretis while he sang, saw the copy
of Bordogni's solfeggi lying on a chair, and mana