upon him a long-forgotten,
half-effaced, musical memory, which he pondered long and tried to follow
out. Then his glance brightened, and darted here and there; an idea had
come to him, and he worked it out eagerly. Absently he grasped the
orange again--it broke from the tree and remained in his hand. He looked
at it, but did not see it; indeed, his artistic abstraction went so far
that, after rolling the fragrant fruit back and forth before his nose,
while his lips moved silently with the melody which was singing itself
to him, he presently took from his pocket an enameled case, and with a
small silver-handled knife slowly cut open the fruit. Perhaps he had a
vague sense of thirst, but, if so, the fragrance of the open fruit
allayed it. He looked long at the inner surfaces, then fitted them
gently together, opened them again, and again put them together.

Just then steps approached the arbor. Mozart started, suddenly
remembering where he was and what he had done. He was about to hide the
orange, but stopped, either from pride or because he was too late. A
tall, broad-shouldered man in livery, the head-gardener, stood before
him. He had evidently seen the last guilty movement, and stopped,
amazed. Mozart, likewise, was too much surprised to speak, and, sitting
as if nailed to his chair, half laughing yet blushing, looked the
gardener somewhat boldly in the face with his big, blue eyes. Then--it
would have been most amusing for a third person--with a sort of defiant
courage he set the apparently uninjured orange in the middle of the
table.

"I beg your pardon, sir," began the gardener rather angrily, as he
looked at Mozart's unprepossessing clothing, "I do not know whom I have
the honor--"

"Kapellmeister Mozart, of Vienna."

"You are acquainted in the palace, I presume."

"I am a stranger, merely passing through the village. Is the Count at
home?"

"No."

"His wife?"

"She is engaged and would hardly see you." Mozart rose, as if he would
go.

"With your permission, sir, how do you happen to be pilfering here?"

"What!" cried Mozart. "Pilfering! The devil! Do you believe, then, that
I meant to steal and eat that thing?"

"I believe what I see, sir. Those oranges are counted, and I am
responsible for them. That tree was just to be carried to the house for
an entertainment. I cannot let you go until I have reported the matter
and you yourself have told how it happened."

"Very well. Be assured that I will