"Very well," said the baroness; "then I will go to the Graf and explain who you are. Ah—you are calm again in a moment? Sit down. Now I have discovered you, and I have a right to you, do you see? It is fortunate for you that I like you."
"You! You like me? In truth, you act as though you did! Besides, you are a stranger, Signora Baronessa, and a great lady. I never saw you till yesterday." But he resumed his seat.
"Good," said she. "Is not the Signorina Edvigia a great lady, and was there never a day when she was a stranger too?"
"I do not understand your caprices, signora. In fine, what do you want of me?"
"It is not necessary that you should understand me," answered the dark-eyed baroness. "Do you think I would hurt you—or rather your voice?"
"I do not know."
"You know very well that I would not; and as for my caprices, as you call them, do you think it is a caprice to love music? No, of course not. And who loves music loves musicians; at least," she added, with a most enchanting smile, "enough to wish to have them near one. That is all. I want you to come here often and sing to me. Will you come and sing to me, my little tenor?"
Nino would not have been human had he not felt the flattery through the sting. And I always say that singers are the vainest kind of people.
"It is very like singing in a cage," he said, in protest. Nevertheless, he knew he must submit; for, however narrow his experience might be, this woman's smile and winning grace, even when she said the hardest things, told him that she would have her own way. He had the sense to understand, too, that whatever her plans might be, their object was to bring him near to herself, a reflection which was extremely soothing to his vanity.
"If you will come and sing to me—only to me, of course, for I would not ask you to compromise your début—but if you will come and sing to me, we shall be very good friends. Does it seem to you such a terrible penance to sing to me in my solitude?"