the fifth string-第7部分

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knees　to　me　every　time；''　then　after　a

pause；　‘‘I　don't　believe　people　fiddle　as

well　nowadays　as　they　did　in　the　good

old　times；''　and　he　actually　sighed　in

remembrance。



Mildred　smiled　and　whispered　to

Diotti。　He　took　his　violin　from　the　case

and　began　playing。　It　seemed　to　her

as　if　from　above　showers　of　silvery

merriment　were　falling　to　earth。　The　old

man　watched　intently；　and　as　the　player

changed　from　joy　to　pity；　from　love

back　to　happiness；　Sanders　never　withdrew

his　gaze。　His　bead…like　eyes　followed

the　artist；　he　saw　each　individual

finger　rise　and　fall；　and　the　bow　bound

over　the　finger…board；　always　avoiding；

never　coming　in　contact　with　the　middle

string。　Suddenly　the　old　man　beat　a

tattoo　on　his　cranium　and　closed　his

eyes；　apparently　deep　in　thought。



As　Diotti　ceased　playing；　Sanders

applauded　vociferously；　and　moving

toward　the　violinist；　said：　‘‘Magnificent！

I　never　have　heard　better　playing！

What　is　the　make　of　your　violin？''



Diotti；　startled　at　this　question；

hurriedly　put　the　instrument　in　its　case；

‘‘Oh；　it　is　a　famous　make；''　he　drawled。



‘‘Will　you　let　me　examine　it？''　said

the　elder；　placing　his　hand　on　the　case。



‘‘I　never　allow　any　one　to　touch　my

violin；''　replied　Diotti；　closing　the　cover

quickly。



‘‘Why；　is　there　a　magic　charm　about

it；　that　you　fear　other　hands　may

discover？''　queried　the　old　man。



‘‘I　prefer　that　no　one　handle　it；''

said　the　virtuoso　commandingly。



‘‘Very　well；''　sighed　the　old　man

resignedly；　‘‘there　are　violins　and　violins；

and　no　doubt　yours　comes　within　that

category；''　this　half　sneeringly。



‘‘Uncle；''　interposed　Mildred　tactfully；

‘‘you　must　not　be　so　persistent。　Signor

Diotti　prizes　his　violin　highly　and　will

not　allow　any　one　to　play　upon　it　but

himself；''　and　the　look　of　relief　on

Diotti's　face　amply　repaid　her。



Mr。　Wallace　came　in　at　that　moment；

and　with　perfunctory　interest　in　his

guest；　invited　him　to　examine　the　splendid

collection　of　revolutionary　relics　in

his　study。



‘‘I　value　them　highly；''　said　the

banker；　‘‘both　for　patriotic　and　ancestral

reasons。　The　Wallaces　fought　and

died　for　their　country；　and　helped　to

make　this　land　what　it　is。''



The　father　and　the　violinist　went　to

the　study；　leaving　the　daughter　and　old

Sanders　in　the　drawing…room。　The

old　man；　seating　himself　in　a　large　armchair；

said：　‘‘Mildred；　my　dear；　I　do

not　wonder　at　the　enormous　success　of

this　Diotti。''



‘‘He　is　a　wonderful　artist；''　replied

Mildred；　‘‘critics　and　public　alike　place

him　among　the　greatest　of　his　profession。''



‘‘He　is　a　good…looking　young　fellow；

too；''　said　the　old　man。



‘‘I　think　he　is　the　handsomest　man　I

ever　have　seen；''　replied　the　girl。



‘‘Where　does　he　come　from？''

continued　Sanders。



‘‘St。　Casciano；　a　small　town　in　Tuscany。''



‘‘Has　he　a　family？''



‘‘Only　a　sister；　whom　he　loves

dearly；''　good…naturedly　answered　the

girl。



‘‘And　no　one　else？''　continued　the

seemingly　garrulous　old　man。



‘‘None　that　I　have　heard　him　speak

of。　No；　certainly　not；''　rather　impetuously

replied　Mildred。



‘‘How　old　is　he？''　continued　the　old　man。



‘‘Twenty…eight　next　month；　why　do　you

wish　to　know？''　she　quizzically　asked。



‘‘Simply　idle　curiosity；''　old　Sanders

carelessly　replied。　‘‘I　wonder　if　he　is

in　love　with　any　one　in　Tuscany？''



‘‘Of　course　not；　how　could　he　be？''

quickly　rejoined　the　girl。



‘‘And　why　not？''　added　old　Sanders。



‘‘Why？　Because；　becausehe　is　in

love　with　some　one　in　America。''



‘‘Ah；　with　you；　I　see；''　said　the　old

man；　as　if　it　were　the　greatest　discovery

of　his　life；　‘‘are　you　sure　he　has　not

some　beautiful　sweetheart　in　Tuscany

as　well　as　here？''



‘‘What　a　foolish　question；''　she

replied。　‘‘Men　like　Angelo　Diotti　do

not　fall　in　love　as　soldiers　fall　in　line。

Love　to　a　man　of　his　nobility　is　too

serious　to　be　treated　so　lightly。''



‘‘Very　true；　and　that's　what　has

excited　my　curiosity！''　whereupon　the　old

man　smoked　away　in　silence。



‘‘Excited　your　curiosity！''　said

Mildred。　‘‘What　do　you　mean？''



‘‘It　may　be　something；　it　may　be

nothing；　but　my　speculative　instinct　has

been　aroused　by　a　strange　peculiarity　in

his　playing。''



‘‘His　playing　is　wonderful！''　replied

Mildred　proudly。



‘‘Aye；　more　than　wonderful！　I

watched　him　intently；''　said　the　old

man；　‘‘I　noted　with　what　marvelous

facility　he　went　from　one　string　to　the

other。　But　however　rapid；　however　difficult

the　composition；　he　steadily　avoided

one　string；　in　fact；　that　string　remained

untouched　during　the　entire　hour　he

played　for　us。''



‘‘Perhaps　the　composition　did　not

call　for　its　use；''　suggested　Mildred；

unconscious　of　any　other　meaning　in　the

old　man's　observation；　save　praise　for

her　lover。



‘‘Perhaps　so；　but　the　oddity

impressed　me；　it　was　a　new　string　to　me。

I　have　never　seen　one　like　it　on　a　violin

before。''



‘‘That　can　scarcely　be；　for　I　do　not

remember　of　Signor　Diotti　telling　me

there　was　anything　unusual　about　his

violin。''



‘‘I　am　sure　it　has　a　fifth　string。''



‘‘And　I　am　equally　sure　the　string

can　be　of　no　importance　or　Angelo

would　have　told　me　of　it；''　Mildred

quickly　rejoined。



‘‘I　recall　a　strange　story　of

Paganini；''　continued　the　old　man；

apparently　not　noticing　her　interruption；　‘‘he

became　infatuated　with　a　lady　of　high

rank；　who　was　insensible　of　the　admiration

he　had　for　her　beauty。



‘‘He　composed　a　love　scene　for　two

strings；　the　‘E'　and　‘G；'　the　first　was

to　personate　the　lady；　the　second　himself。

It　commenced　with　a　species　of

dialogue；　intending　to　represent　her

indifference　and　his　passion；　now　sportive；

now　sad；　laughter　on　her　part　and

tears　from　him；　ending　in　an　apotheosis

of　loving　reconciliation。　It　affected　the

lady　to　that　degree　that　ever　after　she

loved　the　violinist。''



‘‘And　no　doubt　they　were　happy？''

Mildred　suggested　smilingly。



‘‘Yes；''　said　the　old　man；　with

assumed　sentiment；　‘‘even　when　his

profession　called　him　far　away；　for　she　had

made　him　promise　her　he　never　would

play　upon　the　two　strings　whose　music

had　won　her　heart；　so　those　strings　were

mute；　except　for　her。''



The　old　man　puffed　away　in　silence

for　a　moment；　then　with　logical　directness

continued：　‘‘Perhaps　the　string

that's　mute　upon　Diotti's　violin　is　mute

for　some　such　reason。''



‘‘Nonsense；''　said　the　girl；　half　impatiently。



‘‘The　string　is　black　and　glossy　as

the　tresses　that　fall　in　tangled　skeins　on

the　shoulders　of　the　dreamy　beauties　of

Tuscany。　It　may　be　an　idle　fancy；　but

if　that　string　is　not　a　woven　strand　from

some　woman's　crowning　glory；　then　I

have　no　discernment。''



‘‘You　are　jesting；　uncle；''　she

replied；　but　her　heart　was　heavy　already。



‘‘Ask　him　to　play　on　that　string；　I'll

wager　he'll　refuse；''　said　the　old　man；

contemptuously。



‘‘He　will　not　refuse　when　I　ask　him；

but　I　will　not　to…night；''　answered　the

unhappy　girl；　with　forced　determina…

tion。　Then；　taking　the　old　man's　hands；

she　said：　‘‘Good…night；　I　am　going　to

my　room；　please　make　my　excuses　to

Signor　Diotti　and　father；''　and　wearily

she　ascended　the　stairs。



Mr。　Wallace　and　the　violinist　soon

after　joined　old　Sanders；　fresh　cigars

were　lighted　and　regrets　most　earnestly

expressed　by　the　violinist　for　Mildred's

‘‘sick　headache。''



‘‘No　need　to　worry；　she　will　be　all

right　in　the　morning；''　said　Sanders；

and　he　and　the　violinist　buttoned　their

coats　tightly　about　them；　for　the　night

was　bitter　cold；　and　together　they　left

the　house。



In　her　bed…chamber　Mildred　stood

looking　at　the　portrait　of　her　lover。　She

studied　his　face　long　and　intently；　then

crossing　the　room　she　mechanically　took

a　volume　from　the　shelf；　and　as　she

opened　it　her　eyes　fell　on　these　lines：



‘‘How　art　thou　fallen　from　Heaven；

O　Lucifer；　son　of　the　Morning！''



***



Old　Sanders　builded　better　than　he　knew。







XI



When　Diotti　and　old　Sanders　left

the　house　they　walked　rapidly

down　Fifth　Avenue。　It　was　after　eleven；

and　the　streets　were　bare　of　pedestrians；

but　blinking…eyed　cabs　came　up　the　avenue；

looking　at　a　distance　like　a　trail

of　Megatheriums；　gliding　through　the

darkness。　The　piercing　wind　made　the

men　hasten　their　steps；　the　old　man　by

a　semi…rotary　motion　keeping　up　with

the　longer　strides　and　measured　tread　of

the　younger。



When　they　reached　Fourteenth　Street；

the　elder　said；　‘‘I　live　but　a　block　from

here；''　pointing　eastward；　‘‘what　do

you　say　to　a　hot　toddy？　It　will　warm

the　cockles　of　your　heart；　come　over　to

my　house　and　I'll　mix　you　the　best

drink　in　New　York。''



The　younger　thought　the　suggestion

a　good　one　and　they　turned　toward　the

house　of　old　Sanders。



It　was　a　neat；　red　brick；　two…story

house；　well　in　from　the　street；　off　the

line　of　the　more　pretentious　buildings　on

either　side。　As　the　old　man　opened　the

iron　gate；　the　police　officer　on　the　beat

passed；　he　peered　into　the　faces　of　the

men；　and　recognizing　Sanders；　said；

‘‘tough　night；　sir。''



‘‘Very；''　replied　the　addressed。



‘‘All　good　old　gentlemen　should　be　in

bed　at　this　hour；''　said　the　officer；　lifting

one　foot　after　the　other　in　an　effort

to　keep　warm；　and　in　so　doing　showing

little　terpsichorean　grace。



‘‘It's　only　the　shank　of　the　evening；

officer；''　rejoined　the　old　man；　as　he

fumbled　with　the　latch　key　and　finally

opened　the　door。　The　two　men　entered

and　the　officer　passed　on。



Every　man　has　a　fad。　One　will　tell

you　he　sees　nothing　in　billiards　or　pool

or　golf　or　tennis；　but　will　grow　enthusiastic

over　the　scientific　possibilities　of

mumble…peg；　you　agree　with　him；　only

you　substitute　‘‘skittles''　for　‘‘mum