Sounds of harps and violins greeted them from beyond the velvet-hung portal, but none in the rear passage regarded the melody.
Five minutes dragged by, and one of the flower-maidens stepped into the corridor. Each person in the rear passage started breathlessly forward to hear her message.
"His grace desires the seneschal to come to him."
"My-o! My-o!" groaned Vittori; "mercy knows what he'll do to me—and to you, too, Tonin Canova!"
Pausing just long enough to settle his scarlet robe and adjust his linen neckcloth, the seneschal concealed his distress as well as he could, and walked sedately into the banquet-hall.
Tonin locked his hands together in despair.
"What a dunce I was—I, Tonin Canova, who has never been off this mountain—to dare to set up my little work before grand persons like those! Oh, oh! and poor Vittori may be discharged on account of it!"
Suddenly the seneschal reappeared.
"Tonin, you are wanted at once! His grace has sent for you. Hurry! Go on!"