"LET US NOW PLAY FOR THOSE WE LOVE."
When the baptismal feast is over, Mattia draws me aside to the window.
"We have often playful to indifferent people," he said; "let us now, on this memorable occasion, play for those we love?"
"To you there is no pleasure without music, eh, Mattia, old boy," I said, laughing; "do you remember how you scared our cow?"
Mattia grinned.
From a beautiful box, lined with velvet, he drew out an old violin which would not have brought two francs if he had wished to sell it. I took from its coverings a harp, the wood of which had been washed so often by the rain, that it was now restored to its original color.
"Will you sing your Neapolitan song?" asked Mattia.
"Yes, for it was that which gave Lise back her speech," I said, smiling at my wife who stood beside me.
Our guests drew round us in a circle. A dog suddenly came forward. Good old Capi, he is very old and deaf but he still has good eyesight. From the cushion which he occupies he has recognized the harp and up he comes, limping, for "the Performance." In his jaws he holds a saucer; he wants to make the rounds of the "distinguished audience." He tries to walk on his two hind paws, but strength fails him, so he sits down gravely and with his paw on his heart he bows to the society.