At nine o'clock on the morning of the baroness' death, as Nino was busy singing scales, there was a ring at the door, and presently Mariuccia came running in as fast as her poor old legs could carry her, and whiter than a pillow-case, to say that there was a man at the door with two gendarmes, asking for Nino; and before I could question her the three men walked unbidden into the room, demanding which was Giovanni Cardegna, the singer.

Nino started, and then said quietly that he was the man.

I have had dealings with these people, and I know what is best to be done.

They were inclined to be rough and very peremptory.

I confess I was frightened; but I think I am more cunning when I am a little afraid.
"Mariuccia," I said, as she stood trembling in the door-way, waiting to see what would happen, "fetch a flask of that old wine, and serve these gentlemen,--and a few chestnuts, if you have some.