Wilfrid eyed the traveller askance.
"Is that any affair of yours, sir?" he answered, gruffly.
"Eh? yes; I should have a piece of advice to give you."
"Well, you can keep it till it's asked for," retorted Wilfrid, quickening his pace.
I cast a second glance at our new companion. He looked exactly like a great cat, with ears standing out from his head, his eyelids half closed, and a long, bristling mustache; altogether he had a sort of purring, paternal air.
"My friend," he began again, this time addressing me, "the best thing you can do is to return whence you came."
"Why, sir?"
"The famous maestro Prinenti, from Novare, has announced a grand Christmas concert at Heidelberg. Everybody is going to it; you will not get a single kreutzer."
This was too much for Wilfrid.
"A fig for your maestro, and all the Prinentis in this world!" he cried, snapping his fingers. "This lad here, with his long curls and blue eyes, and not a hair yet on his chin, is worth an army of your Italian charlatans. Though he never played outside the Black Forest, he can handle a bow with the first musician in Europe, and will draw melody from his violin such as was never heard before in Heidelberg."