"Well?"

"Is not to-morrow our day for studying?"

"Diavolo! I gave you two hours to-day. Have you forgotten?"

"Ah,--it is true. But give me a lesson to-morrow, like a good maestro
as you are. I will sing like an angel if you will give me a lesson
to-morrow."

"Well, if you like to come at seven in the morning, and if you promise
to sing nothing but solfeggi of Bordogni for an hour, and not to
strain your voice, or put too much vinegar in your salad at supper, I
will think about it. Does that please you? Conte, don't let him eat
too much vinegar."

"I will do all that if I may come," said Nino readily, though he would
rather not sing at all, at most times, than sing Bordogni, De Pretis
tells me.

"Meglio cosi,--so much the better. Good-night, Sor Conte. Good-night,
Nino." And so he turned down the Via Paola, and Nino and I went our
way. I stopped to buy a cigar at the little tobacco shop just opposite
the Tordinona Theatre. They used to be only a baiocco apiece, and I
could get one at a time. But now they are two for three baiocchi; and
so I have to get two always, because there are no half baiocchi any
more--nothing but centimes. That is one of the sources of my
extravagance. Mariuccia says I am miserly; she was born poor, and
never had to learn the principles of economy.