Here Madame Mozart passed over some circumstances in silence. It was not unlikely that the Signora Malerbi (a woman with whom Frau Constanze had good reason to be angry) would have gone also to this soirée. The young Roman singer had, through Mozart's influence, obtained a place in the opera, and without doubt her coquetry had assisted her in winning his favor. Indeed, some gossips would have it that she had made a conquest of him, and had kept him for months on the rack. However that may have been, she conducted herself afterward in the most impertinent and ungrateful manner, and even permitted herself to jest at the expense of her benefactor. So it was quite like her to speak of Mozart to one of her more fortunate admirers as _un piccolo grifo raso_ (a little well-shaven pig). The comparison, worthy of a Circe, was the more irritating because one must confess that it contained a grain of truth. As Mozart was returning from this soirée (at which, as it happened, the singer was not present), a somewhat excited friend was so indiscreet as to repeat to him the spiteful remark. It was the more amazing to him because it was the first unmistakable proof of the utter ingratitude of his protegée. In his great indignation he did not notice the extreme coolness of Frau Constanze's reception. Without stopping to take breath he poured out his grievance, and well-nigh roused her pity; yet she held conscientiously to her determination that he should not so easily escape punishment. So when he awoke from a sound sleep shortly after noon, he found neither wife nor children at home, and the table was spread for him alone. Ever since Mozart's marriage there had been little which could make him so unhappy as any slight cloud between his better half and himself. If he had only known how heavy an anxiety had burdened her during the past few days! But, as usual, she had put off as long as possible the unpleasant communication. Her money was now almost spent, and there was no prospect that they should soon have more. Although Mozart did not guess this state of affairs, yet his heart sank with discouragement and uncertainty. He did not wish to eat; he could not stay in the house. He dressed himself quickly, to go out into the air. On the table he left an open note in Italian: "You have taken a fair revenge, and treated me quite as I deserved. But be kind and smile again when I come home, I beg you. I should like to turn Carthusian or Trappist and make amends for my sins." Then he took his hat, but not his cane--that had had its day--and set off. Since we have excused Frau Constanze from telling so much of her story we may as well spare her a little longer. The good man sauntered along past the market toward the armory--it was a warm, sunshiny, summer afternoon--and slowly and thoughtfully crossed the Hof, and, turning to the left, climbed the Mölkenbastei, thus avoiding the greetings of several acquaintances who were just entering the town.