And the next morning, Nello was round at Dean Street to learn what Papa Péron had thought of in the meanwhile. CHAPTER II The old Frenchman had heard Corsini's knock at the door. He stood at the entrance to his shabby sitting-room, the only article of furniture being the piano, his kind old lined face illumined with smiles. "Courage, my young friend. I did not sleep very well after the excitement of your visit. Inspiration came to me in the middle of the night. You see that letter?" He pointed to a small desk standing against the wall. "Go and see to whom it is addressed." Nello obeyed him. His eyes sparkled as he read the name on the envelope. "Mr. Gay, the leader of the orchestra at the Parthenon." Papa Péron nodded his leonine head, bristling with its snow-white locks. "A friend of mine. He is a composer as well as _chef d'orchestre_. I have corrected many of his proof sheets for a firm I work for." Corsini pricked up his ears at this statement. He and his sister had been curious as to the old man's profession. The mystery was solved. He was no miser, no millionaire, just a music publisher's hack. And once, according to his own statement, he had been a famous pianist, with a renown equal to that of Bauquel. "I have asked him to give you the first vacancy in his orchestra. He will do it to oblige me, for I have helped him a little--given him some ideas. It is one of the best theatre orchestras in London. The pay, alas! will not be good, but it will take you out of those miserable streets. Go to his private address this morning; I am sure he will see you at once." "How can I thank you?" began the young man; but Péron stopped him with an imperious wave of his long, thin hand. "Tut, tut, my child! I want no thanks. I have taken a fancy to you and that dear little sister of yours. Now, listen; I have another scheme on hand." Rapidly the genial old man unfolded his plans. "In my room there are two beds. The landlady has a little attic to let, by no means a grand apartment, but it will serve for your sister. You can share my room. Three people can live almost as cheaply as two." There was a knowing smile on the wrinkled face, as the genial Papa enunciated this profound economic truth. "Come and live here. You can practise on the violin while I play your accompaniments." "But Monsieur, at the moment, we have no money," stammered the embarrassed violinist. "Mr. Gay may not have a vacancy for some little time." Papa Péron frowned ever so little. He did not easily brook contradiction. "You are making difficulties where none exist. You must lodge somewhere. My landlady only asks five shillings a week for the attic. You share my bedroom and sitting-room. As for the food, you will be my guests till you earn something. Do not say me nay," he ended fiercely. "I am resolved that you shall play no more in those miserable gutters. It is finished. You come here to-night."