"Does he live in a cellar, sir, or in a very old house?" "In an old house, certainly. But you won't like him, Auchester,--at least not at first; only he will work you rightly, and take care of your morals and health." "How, sir?" "By locking you up when you are at home, and sending you to walk out every day." "Don't they all send the boys out to walk in Germany then?" "I suppose so. But how shall you like being locked up?" "In the dark, sir, do you mean?" "No, boy; to practise in a little cave of your own." "What _does_ make you call it a cave?" "Because great treasures are hidden there for such as like the bore of grubbing them up. You have no idea, by the way, how much dirty work there is to do anything at all in music." "I suppose you mean, to _get_ at anything. But it cannot be worse than what people go through to get to heaven." "If that is your notion, you are all right. I have taken some trouble to get you into this place, for the old gentleman is a whimsical one, and takes very few pupils now." "Did you know him, sir, before you heard of him for me?" "He taught me all I know, except what I taught myself, and that was preciously little. But that was before he came to Lorbeerstadt. I knew nothing about this place. Your favorite learned of him when he was your age, and long afterwards." "Who, sir,--the same?" "The conductor." "Oh, sir!" It was a dreadful thing to feel I had, as it were, got hold of him and lost him again; but Santonio's manner was such that I did not think he could mean the same person. "Are you sure it is the same, Mr. Santonio?" I reiterated again, and yet again, while my companion, whose laugh had passed into a yawn, was gazing at the smoke. "Sure? Of course I am sure. I know every conductor in Europe." "I daresay you do, sir; but this is not a common conductor." "No conductors are common, my friend. He is very clever, a genius too, and will do a great deal; but he is too young at present to be talked of without caution." "Why, sir?" "Because we may spoil him." I was indignant, I was sick, but so impotent I could only say, "Sir, has he ever heard _you_ play?" "I cannot tell really all the people who hear me play. I don't know who they are in public." "Have you ever heard _him_ play?" "No." "Oh, sir! then how _can_ you know? What makes you call him Chevalier? Is that his real name?" "I tell you precisely what I was told, my boy; Milans-André calls him 'My young friend the Chevalier,'--nothing else. Most likely they gave him the order."