"Why didn't you take this lesson from a real master while I was in the mine?" "Because I didn't want to take what he would charge out of your money." I was hurt when Mattia had spoken thus of a _real_ master, but my absurd vanity could not hold out against his last words. "You're a good boy," I said; "my money is your money; you earn it also, and more than I, very often. You can take as many lessons as you like, and I'll take them with you." The master, the _real_ master that we required, was not a villager, but an _artiste_, a great _artiste_, such as might be found only in important towns. Consulting our map we found that the next big town was Mendes. It was already night when we reached Mendes and, as we were tired out, we decided that we could not take a lesson that evening. We asked the landlady of the inn where we could find a good music master. She said that she was very surprised that we asked such a question; surely, we knew Monsieur Espinassous! "We've come from a distance," I said. "You must have come from a very great distance, then?" "From Italy," replied Mattia. Then she was no longer astonished, and she admitted that, coming from so far then, we might not have heard of M. Espinassous. "Is this professor very busy?" I asked, fearing that such a celebrated musician might not care to give just one lesson to two little urchins like ourselves. "Oh, yes, I should say he is busy; how couldn't he be?" "Do you think that he would receive us to-morrow morning?" "Sure! He receives every one, when they have money in their pockets ... naturally." We understood that, of course. Before going to sleep, we discussed all the questions that we intended asking the celebrated professor the next day. Mattia was quite elated at our luck in finding just the kind of musician we wanted. Next morning we took our instruments, Mattia his violin and I my harp, and set out to find M. Espinassous. We did not take Capi, because we thought that it would not do to call on such a celebrated person with a dog. We tied him up in the inn stables. When we reached the house which our landlady indicated was the professor's, we thought that we must have made a mistake, for before the house two little brass plaques were swinging, which was certainly not the sign of a music professor. The place bore every appearance of a barber's shop. Turning to a man, who was passing, we asked him if he could direct us to M. Espinassous' house. "There it is," he said, pointing to the barber's shop. After all, why should not a professor live with a barber? We entered. The shop was partitioned off into two equal parts. On the right were brushes, combs, jars of cream, and barbers' chairs. On the left, hanging on the walls and on the shelves, were various instruments, violins, cornets, trombones, etc. "Monsieur Espinassous?" inquired Mattia. Fluttering like a bird, the dapper little man, who was in the act of shaving a man, replied: "I am Monsieur Espinassous."