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　‘‘mumble…
  peg。''
  Old　Sanders'　fad　was　mixing　toddies
  and　punches。
  ‘‘The　nectar　of　the　gods　pales　into
  nothingness　when　compared　with　a　toddy
  such　as　I　make；''　said　he。　‘‘Ambrosia
  may　have　been　all　right　for　the
  degenerates　of　the　old　Grecian　and
  Roman　days；　but　an　American　gentleman
  demands　a　toddya　hot　toddy。''　And
  then　he　proceeded　with　circumspection
  and　dignity　to　demonstrate　the　process
  of　decocting　that　mysterious　beverage。
  The　two　men　took　off　their　overcoats
  and　went　into　the　sitting…room。　A　pile
  of　logs　burned　brightly　in　the　fire…place。
  The　old　man　threw　another　on　the　burning
  heap；　filled　the　kettle　with　water　and
  hung　it　over　the　fire。　Next　he　went　to
  the　sideboard　and　brought　forth　the
  various　ingredients　for　the　toddy。
  ‘‘How　do　you　like　America？''　said
  the　elder；　with　commonplace　indifference；
  as　he　crunched　a　lump　of　sugar　in
  the　bottom　of　the　glass；　dissolving　the
  particles　with　a　few　drops　of　water。
  ‘‘Very　much；　indeed；''　said　the
  Tuscan；　with　the　air　of　a　man　who　had
  answered　the　question　before。
  ‘‘Great　country　for　girls！''　said
  Sanders；　pouring　a　liberal　quantity　of　Old
  Tom　gin　in　the　glass　and　placing　it
  where　it　gradually　would　get　warm。
  ‘‘And　for　men！''　responded　Diotti；
  enthusiastically。
  ‘‘Men　don't　amount　to　much　here；
  women　run　everything；''　retorted　the
  elder；　while　he　repeated　the　process　of
  preparing　the　sugar　and　gin　in　the　second
  glass。　The　kettle　began　to　sing。
  ‘‘That's　music　for　you；''　chuckled　the
  old　man；　raising　the　lid　to　see　if　the
  water　had　boiled　sufficiently。　‘‘Do　you
  know　I　think　a　dinner　horn　and　a　singing
  kettle　beat　a　symphony　all　hollow
  for　real　down…right　melody；''　and　he
  lifted　the　kettle　from　the　fire…place。
  Diotti　smiled。
  With　mathematical　accuracy　the　old　man
  filled　the　two　tumblers　with　boiling　water。
  ‘‘Try　that；''　handing　a　glass　of　the
  toddy　to　Diotti；　‘‘you　will　find　it　all