"My good Signor Nicolo!" cried the old fellow, with bright sunshine in his face, "why are we talking here in the public street? Will you be kind enough to climb up a steep flight of stairs, and come with me into my humble dwelling?" As soon as he got into the room with Nicolo, he hauled out a great packet of dusty music-manuscript, opened it up, turned pages over, and began that frightful yelling and screeching which he called "singing." Nicolo demeaned himself like one enraptured. He sighed, he groaned; he cried "bravo!" from time to time, and "Bravissimo! Benedetto Capuzzi!" At length, as if in an excess of blissful enthusiasm, he fell at the old man's feet, and clasped his knees, hugging them so very tightly, however, that Capuzzi gave a great bound to try and shake him off, screamed with the pain, and cried out: "All the Saints! let me go, Signor Nicolo! you'll be the death of me!" "No!" cried Nicolo. "No, Signor Pasquale! I will not rise from this spot till you promise to let me have that heavenly aria which you have just rendered so magnificently, so that Formica may sing it two nights hence on my stage." "You are a person of some taste," sighed Pasquale; "a man of insight; to whom, rather than to you, should I intrust my compositions? You shall take all my arias with you (Oh! oh! do let me go!) but, oh heavens! I shall not hear them--my heavenly masterpieces! (Oh, oh! let go my legs, Signor Nicolo!)" "No!" cried Nicolo, still on his knees, and firmly grasping the old man's spindle-shanks like a vice. "No, Signor Pasquale! I will not let you go till you give me your word that you will come to my theatre the evening after to-morrow. Have no fear of being attacked again. You may be certain that, when the Romans have heard those arias of yours, they will carry you home triumphantly in a torchlight procession. But even if they do not, I and my trusty comrades will arm, and escort you safely home." "You and your comrades will escort me home, will you?" Pasquale inquired; "how many of them might there be?" "Eight or ten people will be at your disposal, Signor Pasquale. Make up your mind; decide upon coming, and yield to my earnest prayers." "Formica," lisped Pasquale, "has a capital voice; how he _would_ sing my arias!" "Decide on it," cried Nicolo once more, grasping the old man's legs tighter than ever. "You promise me," said Pasquale; "you undertake to be responsible that I get safe home without being set upon?" "Upon my life and honour," said Nicolo, giving the legs an extra grip. "Done!" cried the old gentleman. "The evening after to-morrow I shall be at your theatre." Nicolo jumped up, and pressed the old man to his heart with such violence that he coughed and gasped for breath.