Jiggle-joggle, jiggle-joggle…! For each pause she was grateful. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. “I am afraid your broken dinner engagement will not be so easy to explain. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. . "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. I looked upon you from the first as the most promising of my pupils.
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