Next morning they all bathed together, and Barty unheroically and quite obscurely saved a life. The signore and his fat white signora went dancing out into the Sunny waves and right away seawards. Then came Barty with an all-round shirt-collar round his neck and a white tie on, to conceal his seton, and a pair of blue spectacles for the glare. And behind him Marianina, hopping on and following as best she might. He turned round to encourage her, and she had suddenly disappeared; half uneasy, he went back a step or two, and saw her little pale-brown face gasping just beneath the surface--she had just got out of her depth. He snatched her out, and she clung to him like a small monkey and cried dreadfully, and was sick all over him and herself. He managed to get her back on shore and washed and dried and consoled her before her people came back--and had the tact not to mention this adventure, guessing what fillips she would catch on her poor little pink nose for her stupidity. She looked her gratitude for this reticence of his in the most touching way, with her big black eyes--and had a cunning smile of delight at their common tacit understanding. Her rescuer from a watery grave did not apply for the "médaille de sauvetage"! Barty took an immense walk that day to avoid the common repast; he was getting very tired of the two senior Veroneses. The concert in the evening was a tremendous success. The blatant signore sang his Figaro song very well indeed--it suited him better than little feminine love-ditties. The signora was loud and passionate and dramatic in "Roberto"; and Belgians make more allowance for a German accent in French than Parisians; besides, it was not _quite_ their own language that was being murdered before them. It _may_ be, some day! I sincerely hope so. Je leur veux du bien. Poor little Marianina stood on her six music-books and played with immense care and earnestness, just like a frightened but well-trained poodle walking on its hind-legs--one eye on her music and the tail of the other on her father, who accompanied her with his guitar. She got an encore, to Barty's great relief; and to hers too, no doubt--if she hadn't, fillips on the nose for supper that night! Then there were more solos and duets, with obbligatos for the violin. Next day Veronese and his wife were in high feather at the Kursaal, where they had sung the night before. A very distinguished military foreigner, in attendance on some august personage from Spain or Portugal (and later from Ostend), warmly and publicly complimented the signore on "his admirable rendering of 'Largo al factotum'--which, as his dear old friend Rossini had once told him (the General), he (Rossini) had always modestly looked upon as the one thing he had ever written with which he was _almost_ pleased!"