e fiend!
People do not easily make me so hot! His face was as hard as bronze--and
very like the terrible Emperor Tiberius, too! If the servant looks like
that, thought I, what must His Grace the Count be! But to tell the truth
I counted--and not without reason--on the protection of the ladies. For
I overheard the fat hostess of the inn telling my wife, Constanze there,
who is somewhat curious in disposition, all the most interesting facts
about the family, and so I knew--"

Here Madame Mozart had to interrupt him and give them most positive
assurance that he was the one who asked the questions, and a lively and
amusing discussion followed.

"However that may be," he said at last, "I heard something about a
favorite foster-daughter who, besides being beautiful, was goodness
itself, and sang like an angel. '_Per Dio_!' I said to myself, as I
remembered that, 'that will help you out of your scrape! Sit down and
write out the song as far as you can, explain your behavior truthfully,
and they will think it all a good joke.' No sooner said than done! I had
time enough, and found a blank piece of paper--and here is the result! I
place it in these fair hands, an impromptu wedding-song, if you will
accept it!"

He held out the neatly written manuscript toward Eugenie, but the Count
anticipated her, and quickly taking it himself, said: "Have patience a
moment longer, my dear!"

At his signal the folding-doors of the salon opened, and servants
appeared, bringing in the fateful orange-tree, which they put at the
foot of the table, placing on each side a slender myrtle-tree. An
inscription fastened to the orange-tree proclaimed it the property of
Eugenie; but in front of it, upon a porcelain plate, was seen, as the
napkin which covered it was lifted, an orange, cut in pieces, and beside
it the count placed Mozart's autograph note.

"I believe," said the Countess, after the mirth had subsided, "that
Eugenie does not know what that tree really is. She does not recognize
her old friend with all its fruit and blossoms."

Incredulous, Eugenie looked first at the tree, then at her uncle. "It
isn't possible," she said; "I knew very well that it couldn't be saved."

"And so you think that we have found another to take its place? That
would have been worth while! No! I shall have to do as they do in the
play, when the long-lost son or brother proves his identity by his moles
and scars! Look at that knot, and at this crack, which you