"Betsy shall sing you the _aria_ 'Sweet Bird' when you have told us your story," said Mr. Linley.
"I entered during the first pause, for there was no bell to ring--my master had told me not to look for a bell or to call for a servant; the Maestro does not live as other men. The hall was empty; but I had received my instructions to wait there, and I waited until a man strolled in after me from the garden. He wore the common blouse of the Italian peasant, and carried a pruning-knife in one hand and a huge bunch of grapes in the other. I took him for a gardener, and the low bow which he made to me confirmed this impression. In replying to his courteous 'Buona sera, signore,' I told him that if he should chance to find Signore Pugnani in the villa, I would thank him greatly if he would let him know that I brought a message from Maestro Grassi. 'Signore Pugnani will be here presently,' said he. I thanked him, and, wishing to be civil, I said: 'His garden does you great credit--you are, I venture to think, his gardener?' 'Alas! sir,' said he, smiling, 'I am a much humbler person than his gardener. I have, it is true, dared to cut a bunch of grapes, but I am even now trembling at my boldness. I shall have to face the gardener before night, for he is sure to miss it. You are one of Maestro Grassi's pupils, sir?' he added; and when I assented, 'I, too, am learning to play the violin,' he said. 'It is very creditable to you to wish to master the instrument,' said I. 'You must have many opportunities in this household of hearing good music. Your master is, I believe, one of the greatest composers. I am overcome with admiration of his night piece--_La Voce della Notte_, he has called it.' 'I have heard him play it,' said he--'at least I think I recollect it. I fancy I should recall it fully if you were to play a few bars of the prelude.' He picked up a violin which, with its bow, was lying on a cushion on the settee of the hall, and began tuning it. When he had satisfied himself that the instrument was in tune, he handed it to me. 'Have you memory sufficient to play a few bars of the _Andante_?' he inquired. 'Oh, I can play the thing throughout,' said I eagerly. I prided myself on having mastered the _Andante_, and I did not hesitate to play it. In the dimness of that twilight in the hall, through which the scents of the orange-trees floated--I can perceive the delicate perfume of that Italian evening still--I played the _Andante_."