me! Instead of giving me an opportunity to show what I can do in a solo
part, I am forced back into the crowd. My best work disappears in the
chorus. And yet, Sir Wolf, in spite of all, I heard the master's own
lips say in Brussels--I wasn't listening--that he had never heard what
lends a woman's voice its greatest charm come so softly and tenderly from
the throat of a boy. Those are his own words. He will not deny them,
for at least he is honest. What is to become of the singing without
Johann and Benevenuto? But if they would try me, and at least trust a
part of Bosco's music to me--"

Here he stopped, for Master Appenzelder was just coming from the door of
the sick-room into the corridor; but Wolf, with a playful gesture, thrust
his fingers through the lad's bushy coal-black hair, turned him in the
direction from which he came, and called after him, "Your cause is in
good hands, you little fellow with the big name."

Then, laying his hand on the arm of the deeply troubled musician, and
pointing to the boy who was trotting, full of hope, down the corridor, he
said: "'Hannibal ante portas!' A cry of distress that is full of terror;
but the Maltese Hannibal who is vanishing yonder gave me an idea which
will put an end to your trouble, my dear Maestro. The sooner the two
poisoned lads recover the better, of course; yet the Benedictio Mensae
need not remain unsung on account of their heedlessness, for little
Hannibal showed me the best substitute."

This promise flowed from Wolf's lips with such joyous confidence that the
grave musician's sombre face brightened; but it swiftly darkened again,
and he exclaimed, "We don't give such hasty work!" When the knight tried
to tell him what he had in mind, the other brusquely interrupted with the
request that he would first aid him in a more important matter. Wolf was