And Corsini was equally delighted, with his artistic appreciation of all that was beautiful and refined. The gaudy splendours of the Winter Palace were vulgar compared to this perfect setting—and only for a party of three—the exquisite glass and silver, the snowy napery, the well-trained service, the full but subdued light, and that orchestra in the gallery of the vast dining-room rendering that beautiful, but not obtrusive, music, every member of the small band an artist.
The long meal was ended. Salmoros rose.
“Come into my favourite sitting-room,” he said. “We can smoke there in comfort, and Madame can have a cigarette.”
He led the way into a cosy chamber, furnished in the most exquisite taste. Easy, comfortable chairs abounded. Salmoros presented a cigarette to the Princess and offered Corsini one of his choicest cigars. There was a little period of silence, and then the Baron turned to Corsini.
“Have you brought your violin with you, Nello?”
“I never travel without it, sir,” replied the young man.
“Ah, then, when we have had our smoke, perhaps you will humour an old man’s whim. Will you play for me that lovely little romance which was always your encore? There is a piano in yonder corner. Perhaps your wife, who is a musician, will accompany you. If not, I will do my best.”
Later on Nello played, his charming wife accompanying him. The Baron listened, enraptured.
“Ah, my dear Nello, that is exquisite music, exquisitely rendered,” he said when Corsini had finished. “That fellow who leads my orchestra is good—good enough for dinner anyway—but he has not your perfect touch. Ah, you remember me telling you once what I would give if you could teach me to play like you. Well, that offer is still open.”
Corsini smiled. “What would I not give to be the Baron Salmoros?”