“I have often noticed,” Antonio continued, “that those events which inspire us with the greatest doubt, turn out the most favorable, and mine was a case in point. As I had a good deal of spare time, I thought I would employ it in giving singing lessons. I, therefore described myself as a singer at the Opera, while concealing the position I occupied there. Procuring my first pupil was as difficult as saving the first hundred pounds towards a fortune, and I had to wait a long time. At length I caught him; then others; and, gradually, I had enough pupils to enable me to leave the theatre. “I must tell you this determination had another reason. I loved one of my lady pupils, and she returned my affection. Under such circumstances, it was not prudent to remain a chorus-singer, which might have impeded my views. You naturally expect some romantic adventure; but nothing could be more simple than the event which crowned our loves--it was marriage. “Madame Torrini, whom you will see presently, was the daughter of a retired laceman. Her father, a widower, with no other children, had no will but his daughter’s, and he accepted my offers. He was the worthiest of men; but, unfortunately we lost him two years ago. I retired from my professional duties on the fortune he left us, and I now live happily and calmly, in a position which realizes my most brilliant dreams of old. This is another proof,” my philosophic friend said, in conclusion, “that, however precarious may be the position in which a man finds himself, he ought never to despair of luck turning.” My story was not so long as Antonio’s, for with the exception of my marriage, there was no event worthy narrating. I told him, however of my long illness, and the work that had brought it on, and I had scarce ended, when Madame Torrini entered the room. My friend’s wife received me most kindly, saying: “I have known you, sir, for a long time, as Antonio told me your history, which caused me to feel the greatest interest, and my husband and myself often regretted we could not hear of you. Now, however, M. Robert,” she added, “that we have found you, consider yourself an old friend of the family and come to see us often.” I profited by this kind invitation, and more than once went to seek consolation and encouragement from these worthy friends. Antonio still took an interest in conjuring, although it was a mere distraction by which he amused his friends.--Still, not a conjurer announced his performance but he went to see him. One morning he entered my workshop in great haste. “Look here,” he said, offering me a paper, “as you run after all the celebrated conjurers, here is one that will astonish you. Read.” I took the paper eagerly, and read the following puff: “The famous Bosco, who can conjure away a house as easily as a nutmeg, is about to give his performances at Paris, in which some miraculous tricks will be executed.” “Well, what do you say to that?” Antonio asked me.