But this they resolutely declined. He waved them to their chairs. "Five minutes, then. Tell me a little something of your history. I am sure it has been a tragic one." And Corsini, departing from his usual mood of reticence, imparted to the old Frenchman the details of his career. His father, the elder Corsini, had been first violin at the Politeama Theatre in Florence, while comparatively a young man. He had quarrelled violently with the manager and been dismissed. Confident in his ability, he had come over to England to seek his fortune afresh. Here he had met and fallen violently in love with a young English girl, some few years his junior. She was a pianist by profession, in a small way. She attended at dances, played accompaniments at City dinners. Her income was a very meagre one. She was the product of one of the numerous schools that turn out such performers by the dozen. They married, and Corsini soon discovered that he was not the great man he imagined himself to be. Also, he was of a frail and weakly constitution. Ten years after his marriage he died of rapid consumption. Madame Corsini was left with two children on her hands. She was a devoted mother. Nello dwelt on this episode of their sad life with tears in his eyes. She worked hard for a miserable pittance; and then she was worn out with the strain. Nello and his sister, Anita, were left orphans. Nello had been taught the rudiments of the violin by his father; all the rest he had picked up himself. After his mother's death the rest was a nightmare. He had done his best for himself and his sister. That best had landed them in this snow-laden street to-night. Papa Péron listened quietly to this young violinist's recital, but he made little comment. Here was one of the numerous tragedies that were occurring every day in every populous city. He rose and shook hands with the two. "You have a lodging to go to, my poor children?" he asked anxiously. With a deep blush, Corsini assured him that they had a lodging to go to; he did not dare to give him the address. Dean Street was a comparatively aristocratic abode. Papa Péron's humbly furnished room seemed a Paradise. And the piano was good--that must have been saved from the prosperous day--and was his own. No Soho landlady would provide such a piano as that. Péron shook them warmly by the hand. "You must come and see me to-morrow. I shall be in all the morning. I shall think things over between now and then. I am a poor man myself, but I may be able to help you with introductions. I must get you out of these miserable streets." They walked home, wondering about Papa Péron. Who could he be? Anita inclined to the belief that he was a miser. Nello had his doubts. Still very hungry, they bought some sausages on their way home and devoured them before they went to bed. They still had a substantial balance on hand, according to the thrifty Anita.