sons every day, I had the humiliation to see him lift his arms in despair every time I hesitated.
"See, Pretty-Heart is even mocking you," cried Vitalis.
If I had dared, I would have said that he mocked the master just as much as the pupil, but respect, as well as a certain fear, forbade me.
Finally, after many weeks of study, I was able to sing an air from a piece of paper that Vitalis himself had written. That day my master did not throw up his hands, but instead, patted me on the cheek, declaring that if I continued thus I should certainly become a great singer.
