"But you don't know what it is to throw away, like a pair of worn-out
shoes, the dearest hope of a long, sad life. And for whom, I ask you,
for whom? Do you know my padrona? Oh! sir, I have experienced in this
house things, which your youth does not dream could be possible. The
young lady has wounded you. Am I right or wrong?"

"You are mistaken, Belotti."

"Really? I am glad for your sake, you are a modest artist, but the
signorina bears the Hoogstraten name, and that is saying everything. Do
you know her father?"

"No, Belotti."

"That's a race-a race! Have you never heard anything of the story of our
signorina's older sister?"

"Has Henrica an older sister?"

"Yes, sir, and when I think of her.--Imagine the signorina, exactly like
our signorina, only taller, more stately, more beautiful."

"Isabella!" exclaimed the musician. A conjecture, which had been
aroused since his conversation with Henrica, appeared to be confirmed;
he seized the steward's arm so suddenly and unexpectedly, that the latter
drew back, and continued eagerly: "What do you know of her? I beseech
you, Belotti, tell me all."

The servant looked up the stairs, then shaking his head, answered: