"What? is he rather fond of the glass?" "Yes, all that sort of people are," replied the lackey, smiling and pointing at the minstrel. The minstrel took off his cap, and swinging his guitar went toward the hotel. Raising his head, he addressed the ladies and gentlemen standing by the windows and on the balconies, saying in a half-Italian, half-German accent, and with the same intonation that jugglers use in speaking to their audiences,-- "_Messieurs et mesdames, si vous croyez que je gagne quelque chose, vous vous trompez: je ne suis qu'un pauvre tiaple._" He stood in silence a moment, but as no one gave him any thing, he once more took up his guitar and said,-- "_À présent, messieurs et mesdames, je vous chanterai l'air du Righi._" His hotel audience made no response, but stood in expectation of the coming song. Below on the street a laugh went round, probably in part because he had expressed himself so strangely, and in part because no one had given him any thing. I gave him a few centimes, which he deftly changed from one hand to the other, and bestowed them in his vest-pocket; and then, replacing his cap, began once more to sing the graceful, sweet Tyrolese melody which he had called _l'air du Righi_. This song, which formed the last on his programme, was even better than the preceding, and from all sides in the wondering throng were heard sounds of approbation. He finished. Again he swung his guitar, took off his cap, held it out in front of him, went two or three steps nearer to the windows, and again repeated his stock phrase,-- "_Messieurs et mesdames, si vous croyez que je gagne quelque chose_," which he evidently considered to be very shrewd and witty; but in his voice and motions I perceived a certain irresolution and childish timidity which were especially touching in a person of such diminutive stature. The elegant public, still picturesquely grouped in the lighted windows and on the balconies, were shining in their rich attire; a few conversed in soberly discreet tones, apparently about their singer who was standing there below them with outstretched hand; others gazed down with attentive curiosity on the little black figure; on one balcony could be heard the merry, ringing laughter of some young girl. In the surrounding crowd the talk and laughter grew constantly louder and louder. The singer for the third time repeated his phrase, but in a still weaker voice, and did not even end the sentence; and again he stretched his hand with his cap, but instantly drew it back. Again not one of those brilliantly dressed scores of people standing to listen to him threw him a penny. The crowd laughed heartlessly. The little singer, so it seemed to me, shrunk more into himself, took his guitar into his other hand, lifted his cap, and said,-- "_Messieurs et mesdames, je vous remercie, et je vous souhais une bonne nuit._" Then he put on his hat.