But still it did not come, and at the appointed hour Ercole's wife helped him to put on his thick winter coat, and wrapped his comforter about his neck, and pulled his big hat over his eyes--for the weather was threatening, and sent him trudging off to the Palazzo Carmandola.
Though Ercole is stout of heart, and has broad shoulders to bear such burdens as fall to his lot, he lingered long on the way, for his presentiments were gloomy; and at the great door of the Palazzo he even stopped to inquire of the porter whether the contessina had been seen to go out yet, half hoping that she would thus save him the mortification of an interview.

But it turned out otherwise: the contessina was at home, and De Pretis was expected, as usual, to give the lesson.

Slowly he climbed the great staircase, and was admitted.
"Good-day, Sor Maestro," said the liveried footman, who knew him well.
"The Signor Conte desires to speak with you to-day before you go to the signorina." The maestro's heart sank, and he gripped hard the roll of music in his hand as he followed the servant to the count's cabinet.

There was to be a scene of explanation after all.
The count was seated in his great arm-chair, in a cloud of tobacco smoke, reading a Prussian military journal.

His stick leaned against the table by his side, in painful contrast with the glittering cavalry sabres crossed upon the dark red wall opposite.