She took the boy by the hand and led him into the grand salon of the hotel. Here sat the manager of an Italian theatrical company, in absolute despair. He and his troupe were to leave Naples in an hour. For three days he had staid beyond his time, seeking what the city did not afford--an actor of tragedy; and he was now bitterly lamenting to his landlord the ill luck that would compel him to depart for Salerno destitute of so important an adjunct. "What shall I do?" cried the impresario, wringing his hands, "without a Geronimo or a Falerio?" "You may yet find an actor," suggested the good-natured host. "He must drop, then, from the clouds, and at once! My friends at Salerno have twice put off the performance, waiting for me. Saint Antonio! to think of losing so much money!" The corpulent hostess had entered the room, the bashful youth a few paces behind her. "I have found you a tragedian, Master Benevolo," she cried; "a capital fellow. You have fatigued yourself running over Naples in search of one--and he has been waiting for you here since last evening." "What do you mean!" exclaimed both manager and landlord. {21} "You shall have your tragedian. All the rest is my secret. Oh! he is a great genius! If you had heard him last night! All the maids were in tears. Had he a robe and poniard, he would have been terrific. He sang droll songs, too, and made us laugh till my sides ached. I should have told you of him before, but you went out so early." "At what theatres has he appeared?" asked the manager, much interested. "He has never been on the stage; but he will make his way. Such genius--such passion! He has left home to embrace the profession." The impresario mused. "Let me see him," he said. The landlady took the lad by the hand and pulled him forward. He stood with eyes cast down, in the most awkward attitude. "A mere boy!" exclaimed the disappointed director. "He--fit for an actor!" And with a look of contempt he surveyed the youth who aspired to represent the emperors of Rome and the tyrants of Italian republics. "Everything has a beginning!" persisted the dame. "Louis, come forward, and show the maestro what you can do." The overgrown lad hung his head bashfully; but, on further urging, advanced a pace or two, flung over his arms the frayed skirt of his coat to serve as a drapery, and recited some tragic verses of Dante. "Not bad!" cried the manager. "What is your name?" "Louis," replied the lad, bowing. "Louis--what?" "Louis only for the present," interposed the hostess, with an air of mystery. "You are not to know his family name. You see--he left home--" "I understand: the runaway might be caught. Let me hear him in _Otello_." Louis, encouraged, recited a brilliant tragic scene. The manager followed his gestures with hands and head, and, when he had ended, applauded loudly, with flashing eyes.