“How can you help me?”
“Very easily. You have been wasting time, energy and health in a wild desire to play better. The trouble lies not with you.”
“Not with me?” interrupted the violinist, now thoroughly interested.
“The trouble lies not with you,” repeated the visitor, “but with the miserable violin you have been using and have just destroyed,” and he pointed to the shattered instrument.
Tears welled from the poor violinist’s eyes as he gazed on the fragments of his beloved violin, the pieces lying scattered about as the result of his unfortunate anger.
“It was a Stradivarius,” said Diotti, sadly.
“Had it been a Stradivarius, an Amati or a Guarnerius, or a host of others rolled into one, you would not have found in it the melody to win the heart of the woman you love. Get a better and more suitable instrument.”
“Where is one?” earnestly interrogated Diotti, vaguely realizing that Satan knew.
“In my possession,” Satan replied.
“She would hate me if she knew I had recourse to the powers of darkness to gain her love,” bitterly interposed Diotti.