“L’i … ra daver … so daver … so il fato lo più no … no … no … non temerò!” The theatre was all a-quiver, _signori miei_! though I too did not fall short, I too after him. “L’i ra daver … so daver … so il fato Temèr più non davro!” And all of a sudden, he crashed like lightning, like a tiger: _Morro!… ma vendicato …_ Again when he was singing … when he was singing that celebrated air from “_Matrimonio segreto_,” _Pria che spunti_ … then he, _il gran Garcia_, after the words, “_I cavalli di galoppo_”—at the words, “_Senza posa cacciera_,”—listen, how stupendous, _come è stupendo_! At that point he made …” The old man began a sort of extraordinary flourish, and at the tenth note broke down, cleared his throat, and with a wave of his arm turned away, muttering, “Why do you torment me?” Gemma jumped up at once and clapping loudly and shouting, bravo!… bravo!… she ran to the poor old super-annuated Iago and with both hands patted him affectionately on the shoulders. Only Emil laughed ruthlessly. _Cet âge est sans pitié_—that age knows no mercy—Lafontaine has said already. Sanin tried to soothe the aged singer and began talking to him in Italian—(he had picked up a smattering during his last tour there)—began talking of “_paese del Dante, dove il si suona_.” This phrase, together with “_Lasciate ogni speranza_,” made up the whole stock of poetic Italian of the young tourist; but Pantaleone was not won over by his blandishments. Tucking his chin deeper than ever into his cravat and sullenly rolling his eyes, he was once more like a bird, an angry one too,—a crow or a kite. Then Emil, with a faint momentary blush, such as one so often sees in spoilt children, addressing his sister, said if she wanted to entertain their guest, she could do nothing better than read him one of those little comedies of Malz, that she read so nicely. Gemma laughed, slapped her brother on the arm, exclaimed that he “always had such ideas!” She went promptly, however, to her room, and returning thence with a small book in her hand, seated herself at the table before the lamp, looked round, lifted one finger as much as to say, “hush!”—a typically Italian gesture—and began reading. VII