“Impossible! you are joking!”
“I am in earnest.”
“But how could a person in such a station, acquire such perfection in an art which, if she chose to exercise it, would place her above dependence? No—you are in jest!”
“Your incredulity is but natural, considering the ideal you have formed of your singer. But let me tell you how I made my discovery. I went at nine this morning to the Signor’s, entered without ringing, and passed quietly through the hall, for my object was to surprise him. I heard nothing in his apartment, or his daughter’s; but musical sounds came from a distance. I followed them into a corridor at the end of the hall, and soon found they came from a room above. I went up a narrow flight of stairs, listened, and ascertained that it was really the singer of last night. I held my breath; the voice was suppressed, but it had the same fervor and depth of feeling; I could even distinguish the words that closed the song—‘Nur Du.’”
“It is the same!” cried Louis, passionately. “I have heard that song—”
“Let me go on.—I could not withstand the impulse of curiosity; I peeped through the key-hole—I confess it—but could see only the bust of a female figure, which, however, I saw could not belong to Nina. I then determined to open the door suddenly, and to pretend I was in search of some one. This I did; the figure turned round quickly, and I recognized Caroline, the maid. She blushed deeply, and seemed much confused; at length she asked—‘you wish to see Signor Ricco, sir? He is in his chamber.’ I recovered my self-possession at these words, and told her all: how I had heard the music, looked through the key-hole, and finally opened the door to surprise her. I then begged her to sing again, and to inform me how and where she had acquired that exquisite cultivation of her rare musical talents. She refused to sing, but after some hesitation, told me her story. Enough; you know who is your singer: let us go to dinner.”
“No!” cried Louis, “I entreat you to tell me what she said of herself; why she has concealed her precious gift—why she submits to dependence, when she might place herself in a higher sphere!”
“My friend,” returned the merchant, “I feel it would be a breach of faith to repeat her story merely to gratify curiosity. You scarce remembered her existence—how can you be interested in her?”
“Indeed,” protested the young man, “I have often noticed her quiet, modest manners, and interesting countenance. I would do anything to befriend her.”
The merchant smiled at this late discovery of her merit, and looked very mischievous. At last he said—“I will then communicate to you all I know—provided you will promise silence—particularly to the chapel-master and his daughter.