"You are probably mistaken. There has never been an Isabella in this
house to my knowledge, but I will gladly place myself at your service.
Come again after sunset, but you must expect to hear no pleasant tale."

Twilight had scarcely yielded to darkness, when the musician again
entered the Hoogstraten mansion. The little room was empty, but Belotti
did not keep him waiting long.

The old man placed a dainty little waiter, bearing a jug of wine and a
goblet, on the table beside the lamp and, after informing Wilhelm of the
invalids' condition, courteously offered him a chair. When the musician
asked him why he had not brought a cup for himself too, he replied:

"I drink nothing but water, but allow me to take the liberty to sit down.
The servant who attends to the chambers has left the house, and I've done
nothing but go up and down stairs all day. It tries my old legs, and we
can expect no quiet night."

A single candle lighted the little room. Belotti, who had leaned far
back in his chair, opened his clenched hands and slowly began:

"I spoke this morning of the Hoogstraten race. Children of the same
parents, it is true, are often very unlike, but in your little country,
which speaks its own language and has many things peculiar to itself--you
won't deny that--every old family has its special traits. I know, for I
have been in many a noble household in Holland. Every race has its own
peculiar blood and ways. Even where--by your leave--there is a crack in
the brain, it rarely happens to only one member of a family. My mistress
has more of her French mother's nature. But I intended to speak only of
the signorina, and am wandering too far from my subject."