tonio! to think of losing so much money!" The corpulent hostess had entered the room, the bashful youth a few paces behind her.
"I have found you a tragedian, Master Benevolo," she cried; "a capital fellow. You have fatigued yourself running over Naples in search of one—and he has been waiting for you here since last evening."
"What do you mean!" exclaimed both manager and landlord.
"You shall have your tragedian. All the rest is my secret. Oh! he is a great genius! If you had heard him last night! All the maids were in tears. Had he a robe and poniard, he would have been terrific. He sang droll songs, too, and made us laugh till my sides ached. I should have told you of him before, but you went out so early."
"At what theatres has he appeared?" asked the manager, much interested.
"He has never been on the stage; but he will make his way. Such genius—such passion! He has left home to embrace the profession."
The impresario mused. "Let me see him," he said.
The landlady took the lad by the hand and pulled him forward. He stood with eyes cast down, in the most awkward attitude.
"A mere boy!" exclaimed the disappointed director. "He—fit for an actor!" And with a look of contempt he surveyed the youth who aspired to represent the emperors of Rome and the tyrants of Italian republics.