Very crestfallen, but undaunted, the Baroness cried, "But, Monseigneur, you will not refuse, if only to play a scale--merely to _touch_ the piano!" But Liszt, as unkind as she was tactless, answered, coldly, "Madame, I never play my scales in the afternoon," and turned his back on her and talked with Madame Helbig. As they stood there together, he and Madame Helbig, one could not see very much difference between them. She is as tall as Liszt, wears her hair short, and is attired in a long water-proof which looks like a soutane; and he wears his hair long, and is attired in a long soutane which looks like a water-proof. As regards their clothes, the only noticeable difference was that her gown was buttoned down the front and his was not. Both have the same broad and urbane smile. One of the last dinners with Liszt before he left Rome was at the Duke and Duchess Sermonetas'--the Minghettis, the Keudells, Schlözer, and ourselves. Lenbach, the celebrated painter, was invited, but forgot all about the invitation until long after the dinner. Then he hurriedly donned a _redingote_ and appeared, flurried and distressed. Liszt was in one of his most delightful moods, and began improvising a tarantella, and Madame Minghetti jumped up suddenly and started to dance. Schlözer, catching the spirit of it, joined her. Who ever would have thought that the sedate German Minister to the Pope could have been so giddy! He knelt down, clapping his hands and snapping his fingers to imitate castanets. Madame Minghetti, though a grandmother, danced like a girl of sixteen, and Liszt at the piano played with Neapolitan gaiety! It was a moment never to be forgotten. Keudell's kind eyes beamed with joy. Lenbach looked over his spectacles and forgot his usual sarcastic smile. We all stood in an enchanted circle, clapping our hands in rhythmical measure. Our good friend Ludolf, as Liszt's ambassador, asked the abbé--who has a great respect for "the powers that be"--to a beautiful dinner, to which we were invited, the Minghettis, the Keudells, and four others--making twelve in all. Madame Minghetti accepted for herself, but excused her husband, who she said was not to be in Rome that evening. Count Ludolf asked M. de Pitteurs (the Belgian Minister) to fill Minghetti's place. Five minutes before dinner was announced, in came Madame Minghetti with Monsieur Minghetti. "What!" cried the Count. "I did not expect _you_! Why did you not send me word that you were coming? We shall be thirteen at table, and that will never do." Both M. and Mme. Minghetti were very much embarrassed. "There is nothing easier," answered Signor Minghetti. "I can go home." You may imagine that this was not very pleasant for the great Minghetti, who had probably never had such an experience in all his life.