"It is out of tune now, perhaps, but it is the source of all my fortune." He leaned over the crazy instrument and seemed to caress it.
"Poor old thing!" said Hedwig, compassionately.

"I am sure there is music in it still--the sweet music of the past." "Yes," said he laughing, "it must be the music of the past, for it would not stand the 'music of the future,' as they call it, for five minutes.

All the strings would break." Hedwig sat down on the chair that was in front of it, and her fingers went involuntarily to the keys, though she is no great musician.
"I can play a little, you know, Nino," she said shyly, and looked up to his face for a response, not venturing to strike the chords.

And it would have done you good to see how brightly Nino smiled and encouraged her little offer of music--he, the great artist, in whose life music was both sword and sceptre.

But he knew that she had greatness also of a different kind, and he loved the small jewels in his crown as well as the glorious treasures of its larger wealth.
"Play to me, my love," he said, not caring now whether I heard the sweet words or not.