A whimsical smile overspread the other man’s features. “And yet I will tell you a little secret. Music is a passion with me. I am a financier by profession, but art, art alone absorbs my soul. I have tried, oh how hard! to be an executant on more than one instrument. Signor Corsini, I would pay you a hundred thousand pounds to-morrow, if you could teach me to play that exquisite little romance as you played it last night. I feel every note in my soul, but when my feeble fingers touch the strings, they are powerless.”
Nello looked at him compassionately. There was in his composition the hard Latin fibre; but here was a new experience for him. Here was a man who had achieved eminence in one of the most difficult professions, a man who could write a cheque for one or two millions. And here he was, lamenting his incapacity to succeed in an art for which nature had given him no equipment.
“It is very sad, Baron,” breathed the young Italian softly. “But in your case, the gods have given so generously. Why should you complain that they have withheld this one small gift, the gift of the executant?”
“You call it a small gift, do you?” replied Salmoros in his deep, sonorous tones. “I call it the greatest gift of all.” He paused, reflected a second, and then became again the man of affairs.
“Now, Signor Corsini, to your immediate business. How can I help you for my good old Jean’s sake and your own? What are your own views as to the present situation? Are you satisfied, or not?”
Corsini was quite frank. “In a way, yes; in a way, no. Degraux and dear Papa Péron both gave me very good advice——”
“The sum of which was——?” interjected the white-haired Salmoros.
“That unless you make a very great success, the artistic career is of all the most uncertain.”
Salmoros nodded his massive head. “I quite agree. Poor dear old Jean was shrewder than I thought. And yet, how simple in some things. Why did he not apply to me instead of drawing his last breath in that miserable house? I would have given him an annuity for life.”