"I have it," he exclaimed after a few moments of reflection. "You have heard of Paul Degraux?"

"One of the directors of the Covent Garden Opera?"

"Right," said Gay. "Well, Degraux is a big man now, but twenty-five years ago we were playing in the same orchestra for a few shillings a week. He is there, I am here. We have never quite lost sight of each other, and I think he would always do me a good turn if it was in his power. I will give you a note to him. Take it round to him this morning. You will find him at the theatre."

Ten minutes later, Corsini was on his way to the great man. Gay had written a most glowing and eulogistic introduction.

"The bearer of this note, Signor Nello Corsini, is a most accomplished violinist. I have had him in my orchestra, but he is too good for that. Give him a chance at one of your concerts and he will make good.

You know my judgment is generally pretty accurate. Give him a helping hand and you will not regret it."

CHAPTER III

The name of Gay seemed one to conjure with. Five minutes after the letter had been taken in, Nello was shown in to Monsieur Degraux's private room.

He was a tall, handsome man, this musical director of the opera who, twenty-five years ago, had played in a small orchestra for a few shillings a week. His countenance was florid, he had a very striking personality. Emphatically he was the type of man who gets on, who shoulders his way in the world, pushing aside with his strong, resolute elbows his weaker and more timorous fellow creatures.

He was always urbane, even when he had to say No. At the present moment he had not decided as to whether he would say Yes or No to his old friend's request. He was very much taken with the appearance of the slim, handsome young Italian. His clothes were certainly shabby: Degraux's experienced eyes took in that fact at once; but there was a certain resolution in Nello's bearing, a brightness and animation in his face, that showed he was no ordinary seeker for favours.

"Sit down, sit down," he said genially, "although I cannot give you very long. I am a very busy man; all the day and half the night I have to cut myself into pieces, as it were. And always, I am frightfully worried. To-day I have been more worried than usual."

"I am sorry to hear it, Monsieur," said the Italian, sympathetically.

If he wanted to get anything out of Monsieur Degraux, he must fall in with his moods. Privately he thought the director's worries, whatever their magnitude, were as nothing compared to his own.

This plump, prosperous-looking person was not very close to starvation.

"You know, of course, the name of Bauquel?" inquired Degraux abruptly.

"A great genius, Monsieur." In spite of Papa Peron's hostile verdict, the younger musician had a great reverence for the celebrated violinist, who was a popular favourite in every European capital.

The director snapped his fingers, and indulged in an angry exclamation. "Not the genius that he thinks himself, not the genius his friends pretend he is. He is very astute on the business side, has worked his Press well, and always maintains a vigilant _claque_. I and people like myself have helped him very considerably also by taking him at his face valuation. Genius, certainly not; at any rate, not a great genius."

Monsieur Degraux snapped his fingers more contemptuously, and reeled off the names of a few rivals. "Those are geniuses if you like, artists who disclaim his clap-trap methods."

Nello felt uncomfortable and apprehensive. The irate director was evidently so occupied with the subject of the offending Bauquel that Mr. Gay's letter stood in danger of being forgotten. And the great man had especially said that his time was short.

"Monsieur Bauquel has had the misfortune to incur your displeasure, sir?" he hazarded.

"I should think he had," cried Degraux furiously. "He was to appear at my great concert next week; Royalty and the elite of London will be there. Two days ago we had a little tiff, in which I admit I told him some home truths. What happens? This morning I receive a letter, dated from Brighton, in which he throws me over. Pretends he is ill and that his doctor has ordered a complete rest."

"And you do not believe this to be true, Monsieur?"

"True!" thundered Degraux. "An absolute lie. A friend of mine writes me at the same time from the Grand Hotel. He tells me that the so-called invalid is staying there with a rowdy party and looking the picture of health. The scoundrel has done it to put me in a corner.

And what is to become of my concert? I cannot put my hand on a violinist of the first rank in the few days left me."

Nello stood up, his face glowing, his limbs trembling with excitement.

He pointed to Gay's letter, which lay on the director's desk.

"Monsieur, I beseech you, if it is not too great presumption, to let me take his place. I may not make a sensation, but certainly I shall not be a failure. And you will have so many stars of the first magnitude, that a smaller one may dare to give a little light. You have read what Mr. Gay says of me. I fancy he is no mean judge of music and musicians."

Degraux was suddenly brought down from his heights of indignation by this direct appeal. He looked keenly at the young man, but in his eyes there appeared a humorous twinkle, as if he admired his audacity.

"You don't miss a chance, I see, my young friend. But it is a big risk to run you in the place of Bauquel, and as soon as he gets wind of it, he will send his _claque_ to hiss you."

Monsieur Degraux thought for several seconds, and the young man went hot and cold. His hopes, his fate, hung upon the conductor's caprice.

Degraux touched a bell on the desk with the air of a man who had made up his mind. An attendant answered the summons.

"Please send in Mr. Lemoin." He turned to Nello. "This gentleman will accompany you, and you shall show what you can do. Remember, you will appear before one of the most appreciative, but also one of the most critical, audiences in the world."

Monsieur Lemoin appeared, a fat chubby person. He accompanied very well; not perhaps with the a.s.sured artistic instinct of old Papa Peron, who was a part of the piano he played so skilfully.

Degraux listened intently. He had told Nello to play the pieces which, in his own opinion, he could render best. The young man finished with that sad little romance which he had heard in Dean Street on that well-remembered night, and into which he wove some brilliant variations.

The director rose and spoke, for him, rather enthusiastically. "Yes, my young friend, Gay is right. You are a true artist. Play that little romance at the end; you are at your best in that. Play it as you have done here and we need not fear Bauquel's _claque_. I engage you for that concert. I will also boom you, but not extravagantly--just judiciously--in the short time that is left me. Now about terms?"

He named a fee that seemed to Corsini to represent absolute wealth. If he could only obtain a couple of sovereigns on account, to ease the hard conditions in Dean Street. Degraux did not seem a hard man; it was possible the request would be granted as soon as asked.

But prudence forbade. It would be the reverse of politic to plead absolute poverty on so brief an acquaintance. Till next week, they must draw their belts a little tighter. Well, experience had taught them to do that.

He hurried back to Dean Street with the joyful news. He was to appear before a most fashionable audience in place of the great Bauquel, squandering his money down at Brighton in order to revenge himself upon the too plain-speaking Degraux.

Papa Peron was sitting up in bed, Anita by his side. The poor old man had had one of his good days, the cough was less troublesome. The doctor had whispered as he went out that if the severe weather mended a little, they might pull him through. He smiled happily as his young protege recounted what had happened.

"I have met Degraux once or twice in the years gone by, and I have been told that prosperity has not spoiled him. But, my dear boy, there is one little difficulty about that concert next week."

"And that?" asked young Corsini. He was so overjoyed in his new-found fortune, that he could think of nothing else.

The old Frenchman chuckled quietly. "You will want an evening suit, my young friend. One does not appear before Royalty in ordinary clothes, and those not of the newest, does one?"

Nello groaned. The dress-clothes which Papa Peron had purchased for the engagement at the Parthenon had found their way to the p.a.w.n-brokers a few days ago, to provide food. What a fool he had been not to make a clean breast of it to Degraux and ask for a few pounds in advance!

"It crossed my mind to ask for a loan, and I was afraid I might offend him," explained the young man.

"Quite right, my dear son, quite right. Those wealthy men are peculiar. We will not trouble this rich gentleman. There are other ways."

He pointed his thin hand to a little cupboard standing against the wall. "Go and open the door. Within I have a small private box where I keep my papers. Bring it to me, please."

Nello obeyed, and carried to him a beautiful little antique casket of ebony, inlaid with tortoise-sh.e.l.l and silver, with some cipher letters on the lid. The old man opened it with a key which he wore attached to a ribbon round his neck.

From the small box he carefully produced an antique ring with a tiny miniature portrait, exquisitely painted and set with diamonds. This he pressed reverently to his lips, and then handed it to the young man, saying:

"This is the likeness of my honoured Master, my Emperor Napoleon the Third--given to me with his own hand."

He took out a jewelled star, all tarnished. "This is the Order of the Chevalier of St. Louis, bestowed upon me for my services to----" He could not finish his sentence; the tears were rolling down his thin, wasted cheeks.