showman by telling him who the company were. He tried by his
witticisms to bring a smile to the lips of a man who, as his
Neapolitan instinct told him, might be a wealthy patron to turn to
good account.

"This one," said he, "is a poor composer who would like to rise
from song-writing to opera, and cannot. He blames the managers,
music-sellers,--everybody, in fact, but himself, and he has no worse
enemy. You can see--what a florid complexion, what self-conceit, how
little firmness in his features! he is made to write ballads. The man
who is with him and looks like a match-hawker, is a great music
celebrity--Gigelmi, the greatest Italian conductor known; but he has
gone deaf, and is ending his days in penury, deprived of all that made
it tolerable. Ah! here comes our great Ottoboni, the most guileless
old fellow on earth; but he is suspected of being the most vindictive
of all who are plotting for the regeneration of Italy. I cannot think
how they can bear to banish such a good man."

And here Giardini looked narrowly at the Count, who, feeling himself
under inquisition as to his politics, entrenched himself in Italian
impassibility.

"A man whose business it is to cook for all comers can have no
political opinions, Excellenza," Giardini went on. "But to see that
worthy man, who looks more like a lamb than a lion, everybody would
say what I say, were it before the Austrian ambassador himself.
Besides, in these times liberty is no longer proscribed; it is going
its rounds again. At least, so these good people think," said he,
leaning over to speak in the Count's ear, "and why should I thwart
their hopes? I, for my part, do not hate an absolute government.