Maurice Guest

  V.

  The following morning, having drunk his coffee, Maurice pushed back themetal tray on which the delf-ware stood, and remained sitting idle withhis hands before him. It was nine o'clock, and the houses across theroad were beginning to catch stray sunbeams. By this time, his dailywork was as a rule in full swing; but to-day he was in no hurry tocommence. He was even more certain now than he had been on the nightbefore, of his lack of success; and the idea of starting anew on thedull round filled him with distaste. He had been so confident that hisplaying would, in some way or other, mark a turning-point in hismusical career; and lo! it had gone off with as little fizz and effectas a damp rocket. Lighting a cigarette, he indulged in ironicalreflections. But, none the less, he heard the minutes ticking past, andas he was not only a creature of habit, but had also a troublesomenorthern conscience, he rose before the cigarette had formed its secondspike of ash, and went to the piano: no matter how rebellious he felt,this was the only occupation open to him; and so he set staunchly outon the unlovely mechanical exercising, which no pianist can escape.Meanwhile, he recapitulated the scene in the concert hall, from the fewanticipatory moments, when the 'cellist related amatory adventures, tothe abrupt leave he had taken of Dove at the door of the building. Andin the course of doing this, he was invaded by a mild and agreeabledoubt. On such shadowy impressions as these had he built up hisassumption of failure! Was it possible to be so positive? The unrealstate of mind in which he had played, hindered him from acting as hisown judge. The fact that Schwarz had not been effusive, and that noneof his friends had sought him out, admitted of more than oneinterpretation. The only real proof he had was Dove's manner to him;and was not Dove always too full of his own affairs, or, at least, theaffairs of those who were not present at the moment, to have anyattention to spare for the person he was actually with? At the ideathat he was perhaps mistaken, Maurice grew so unsettled that he rosefrom the piano. But, by the time he took his seat again, he hadwavered; say what he would, he could not get rid of the belief that ifhe had achieved anything out of the common, Madeleine would not havemade it her business to avoid him. After this, however, his fluctuatinghopes rallied, then sank once more, until it ended in his leaving thepiano. For it was of no use trying to concentrate his thoughts until heknew.

  Even as he said this to himself, his resolution was taken. There wasonly one person to whom he could apply, and that was Schwarz. Theproceeding might be unusual, but then the circumstances in which he wasplaced were unusual, too. Besides, he asked neither praise norflattery, merely a candid opinion.

  If, however, he faced Schwarz on this point, there were others on whichhe might as well get certainty at the same time. The matter of thePRUFUNG, for instance, had still to be decided. So much depended on thechoice of piece. His fingers itched towards Chopin or Mendelssohn, forthe sole reason that the technique of these composers was in his blood.Whereas Beethoven!--he knew from experience how difficult it was to geta satisfactory effect out of the stern barenesses of Beethoven. Theydemanded a skill he could never hope to possess.

  Between five and six that afternoon, he made his way to the SEBASTIANBACH-STRASSE, where Schwarz lived. It was hot in the new, shadelessstreets through which he passed, and also in crossing the JOHANNAPARK;hardly a hint of September was in the air. He walked at a slow pace, inorder not to arrive too early, and, for some reason unclear to himself,avoided stepping on the joins of the paving-stones.

  On hearing that he had not come for a lesson, the dirty maidservant,who opened the third-floor door to him, showed him as a visitor intothe best sitting-room. Maurice remained standing, in prescribedfashion. But he had no sooner crossed the threshold than he was awareof loud voices in the adjoining room, separated from the one he was inby large foldingdoors.

  "If you think," said a woman's voice, and broke on "think"--"if youthink I'm going to endure a repetition of what happened two years ago,you're mistaken. Never again shall she enter this house! Oh, you pig,you wretch! Klara has told me; she saw you through the keyhole--withyour arm round her waist. And I know myself, scarcely a note was struckin the hour. You have her here on any pretext; you keep her in theclass after all the others have gone. But this time I'm not going tosit still till the scandal comes out, and she has to leave the place. Aman of your age!--the father of four children!--and this ugly littlehussy of seventeen! Was there ever such a miserable woman as I am! No,she shall never enter this house again."

  "And I say she shall!" came from Schwarz so fiercely that the listenerstarted. "Aren't you ashamed, woman, at your age, to set a servantspying at keyholes?--or, what is more likely, spying yourself? Keep toyour kitchen and your pots, and don't dictate to me. I am the master ofthe house."

  "Not in a case like this. It concerns me. It concerns the children. Isay she shall never enter the door again."

  "And I say she shall. Go out of the room!"

  A chair grated roughly on a bare floor; a door banged with suchviolence that every other door in the house vibrated.

  In the silence that ensued, Maurice endeavoured to make his presenceknown by walking about. But no one came. His eyes ranged round theroom. It was, with a few slight differences, the ordinary best room ofthe ordinary German house. The windows were heavily curtained, and, infront of them, to the further exclusion of light and air, stoodrespectively a flower-table, laden with unlovely green plants, and aroom-aquarium. The plush furniture was stiffly grouped round an oblongtable and dotted with crochet-covers; under a glass shade was a massybunch of wax flowers; a vertikow, decorated with shells and grasses,stood cornerwise beside the sofa; and, at the door, rose white andgaunt a monumental Berlin stove. But, in addition to this, which was DERIGUEUR, there were personal touches: on the walls, besides the usualgroup of family photographs, in oval frames, hung the copy of a Madonnaby Gabriel Max, two etchings after Defregger, several largegroup-photographs of Schwarz's classes in different years, a framedconcert programme, yellow with age, and a silhouette of Schumann. Overone of the doors hung a withered laurelwreath of imposing dimensions,and with faded silken ends, on which the inscription was still legible:DEM GROSSEN KUNSTLER, JOHANNES SCHWARZ!--Open on a chair, with anembroidered book-marker between its pages, lay ATTA TROLL; and by thestove, a battered wooden doll sat against the wall, in a relaxedattitude, with a set leer on its painted face.

  Maurice waited, in growing embarrassment. He had unconsciously fixedhis eyes on the doll; and, in the dead silence of the house, thesenseless face of the creature ruffled his nerves; crossing the room,he knocked it over with his foot, so that its head fell with a bump onthe parquet floor, where it lay in a still more tipsy position. Therewas no doubt that he had arrived at a most inopportune moment; itseemed, too, as if the servant had forgotten even to announce him.

  On cautiously opening the door, with the idea of slipping away, heheard a child screaming in a distant room, and the mother's voice sharpin rebuke. The servant was clattering pots and pans in the kitchen, butshe heard Maurice, and put her head out of the door. Her face was redand swollen with crying.

  "What!--you still here?" she said rudely. "I'd forgotten all about you."

  "It doesn't matter--another time," murmured Maurice.

  But the girl had spoken in a loud voice to make herself heard above thescreaming, which was increasing in volume, and, at her words, a door atthe end of the passage, and facing down it, was opened by about aninch, and Frau Schwarz peered through the slit.

  "Who is it?"

  The servant tossed her head, and made no reply. She went back into herkitchen, and, after a brief absence, during which Frau Schwarzcontinued surreptitiously to scrutinise Maurice, came out carrying alarge plateful of BERLINER PFANNKUCHEN. With these she crossed to anopposite room, and, as she there planked the plate down on the table,she announced the visitor. A surly voice muttered something in reply.As, however, the girl insisted in her sulky way, on the length of timethe young man had waited, Schwarz called out stridently: "Well, then,in God's name, let him come in! And Kla
ra, you tell my wife, if thatnoise isn't stopped, I'll throw either her or you downstairs."

  Klara appeared again, scarlet with anger, jerked her arm at Maurice, tosignify that he might do the rest for himself, and, retreating into herkitchen, slammed the door. Left thus, with no alternative, Maurice drewhis heels together, gave the customary rap, and went into the room.

  Schwarz was sitting at the table with his head on his hand, tracing thepattern of the cloth with the blade of his knife. A coffee-servicestood on a tray before him; he had just refilled his cup, and helpedhimself from the dish of PFANNKUCHEN, which, freshly baked, sent aninviting odour through the room. He hardly looked up on Maurice'sentrance, and cut short the young man's apologetic beginnings.

  "Well, what is it? What brings you here?"

  As Maurice hesitated before the difficulty of plunging offhand into theobject of his visit, Schwarz pointed with his knife at a chair: hecould not speak, for he had just put the best part of a PFANNKUCHEN inhis mouth, and was chewing hard. Maurice sat down, and holding his hatby the brim, proceeded to explain that he had called on a smallpersonal matter, which would not occupy more than a minute of themaster's time.

  "It's in connection with last night that I wished to speak to you, HerrProfessor," he said: the title, which was not Schwarz's by right, heknew to be a sop. "I should be much obliged to you if you would give meyour candid opinion of my playing. It's not easy to judgeoneself--although I must say, both at the time, and afterwards, I wasnot too well pleased with what I had done--that is to say ..."

  "WIE? WAS?" cried Schwarz, and threw a hasty glance at his pupil, whilehe helped himself anew from the dish.

  Maurice uncrossed his legs, and crossed them again, the same one up.

  "My time here comes to an end at Easter, Herr Professor. And it'simportant for me to learn what you think of the progress I have madesince being with you. I don't know why," he added less surely, "but oflate I haven't felt satisfied with myself. I seem to have got a certainlength and to have stuck there. I should like to know if you havenoticed it, too. If so, does the fault lie with my want of talent, or--"

  "Or with ME, perhaps?" broke in Schwarz, who had with difficulty thusfar restrained himself. He laughed offensively. "With ME--eh?" Hestruck himself on the chest, several times in succession, with thebutt-end of his knife, that there might be no doubt to whom hereferred. "Upon my soul, what next I wonder!--what next!" He ceased tolaugh, and grew ungovernably angry. "What the devil do you mean by it?Do you think I've nothing better to do, at the end of a hard day'swork, than to sit here and give candid opinions, and discuss theprogress made by each strummer who comes to me twice a week for alesson? Oho, if you are of that opinion, you may disabuse your mind ofit! I'm at your service on Tuesday and Friday afternoon, when I am paidto be; otherwise, my time is my own."

  He laid two of the cakes on top of each other, sliced them through, andput one of the pieces thus obtained in his mouth. Maurice had risen,and stood waiting for the breathing-space into which he could thrustwords of apology.

  "I beg your pardon, Herr Professor," he now began. "You misunderstandme. Nothing was further from my mind than----"

  But Schwarz had not finished speaking; he rapped the table with hisknife-handle, and, working himself up to a white heat, continued: "Butplain and plump, I'll tell you this, Herr Guest"--he pronounced it"Gvest." "If you are not satisfied with me, and my teaching, you're atliberty to try some one else. If this is a preliminary to inscribingyourself under that miserable humbug, that wretched charlatan, whopretends to teach the piano, do it, and have done with it! No one willhinder you--certainly not I. You're under no necessity to come herebeforehand, and apologise, and give your reasons--none of the othersdid. Slink off like them, without a word! it's the more decent way inthe long run. They at least knew they were behaving like blackguards."

  "You have completely misunderstood me, Herr Schwarz. If you will giveme a moment to explain----"

  But Schwarz was in no mood for explanations; he went on again, payingno heed to Maurice's interruption.

  "Who wouldn't rather break stones by the roadside than be a teacher?"he asked, and sliced and ate, sliced and ate. "Look at the years oflabour I have behind me--twenty and more!--in which I've toiled to thebest of my ability, eight and nine hours, day after day, and eternallyfor ends that weren't my own!--And what return do I get for it? Anew-comer only needs to wave a red flag before them, and all alike rushblindly to him. A pupil of Liszt?--bah! Who was Liszt? A barrel-organof execution; a perverter of taste; a worthy ally of that upstart whoruined melody, harmony, and form. Don't talk to me of Liszt!"

  He spoke in spurts, blusteringly, but indistinctly, owing to thefullness of his mouth.

  "But I'm not to be imposed on. I know their tricks. Haven't I myselfhad pupils turn to me from Bulow and Rubinstein? Is that not proofenough? Would they have come if they hadn't known what my method wasworth? And I took them, and spared no pains to make something of them.Haven't I a right to expect some gratitude from them inreturn?--Gratitude? Such a thing doesn't exist; it's a word withoutmeaning, a puffing of the air. Look at him for whom I did more than forall the rest. Did I take a pfennig from him in payment?--when I sawthat he had talent? Not I! And I did it all. When he came to me, hecouldn't play a scale. I gave him extra lessons without charge, I putpupils in his way, I got him scholarships, I enabled him to support hisfamily--they would have been beggars in the street, but for me. And nowsoon will be! Yes, I have had his mother here, weeping at my feet,imploring me to reason with him and bring him back to his senses. SHEsees where his infamy will land them. But I? I snap my fingers in hisface. He has sown, and he shall reap his sowing.--But the day willcome, I know it, when he will return to me, and all the rest willfollow him, like the sheep they are. Let them come! They'll see thenwhether I have need of them or not. They'll see then what they wereworth to me. For I can produce others others, I say!--who will put himand his fellows out of the running. Do they think I'm done for, becauseof this? I'll show them the contrary. I'll show them! Why, I set nomore store by the lot of you than I do by this plate of cakes!"

  Again he ate voraciously, and for a few moments, the noise his jawsmade in working was the only sound in the room. Maurice stood in thesame attitude, with his hat in his hand.

  "I regret more than I can express, having been the cause of annoyingyou, Herr Professor," he said at length with stiff formality. "But Ishould like to repeat, once more, that my only object in coming herewas to speak to you about last night. I felt dissatisfied with myselfand ..."

  "Dissatisfied?" echoed Schwarz, bringing his jaws together with a snap."And what business of yours is it to feel dissatisfied, I'd like toknow? Leave that to me! You'll hear soon enough, I warrant you, when Ihave reason to be dissatisfied. Until then, do me the pleasure ofminding your own business."

  "Excuse me," said Maurice with warmth, "if this isn't my own business!... As I see it, it's nobody's but mine. And it seemed to me natural toappeal to you, as the only person who could decide for me whether Ishould have anything further to do with art, or whether I should throwit up altogether."

  Schwarz, who was sometimes not averse to a spirited opposition, caughtat the one unlucky word on which he could hang his scorn.

  "ART!" he repeated with jocose emphasis--he had finished the plate ofcakes, risen from the table, and was picking teeth at the window."Art!--pooh, pooh!--what's art got to do with it? In your place, Ishould avoid taking such highflown words on my tongue. Call itsomething else. Do you think it makes a jot of difference whether youcall it art or ... pludderdump? Not so much"--and he snapped hisfingers--"will be changed, though you never call it anything!Vanity!--it's nothing but vanity! A set of raw youths inflatethemselves like frogs, and have opinions on art, as on what they haveeaten for their dinner.--Do your work and hold your tongue! A scalewell played is worth all the words that were ever said--and that, themajority of you can't do."

  He closed his toothpick with a snap, spat dexterously at a spittoo
nwhich stood in a corner of the room, and the interview was over.

  As Maurice descended the spiral stair, he said to himself that, nomatter how long he remained in Leipzig, he would never trouble Schwarzwith his presence again. The man was a loose-mouthed bully. But infuture he might seek out others to be the butt of his clumsy wit. He,Maurice, was too good for that.--And squaring his shoulders, he walkederectly down the street, and across the JOHANNAPARK.

  But none the less, he did not go straight home. For, below the comedyof intolerance at which he was playing, lurked, as he well knew, theconsciousness that his true impression of the past hour had still to befaced. He might postpone doing this; he could not shirk it. It was allvery well: he might repeat to himself that he had happened on Schwarzat an inopportune moment. That did not count. For him, Maurice, theopportune moment simply did not exist; he was one of those people whoare always inopportune, come and go as they will. He might have waitedfor days; he would never have caught Schwarz in the right mood, or inthe nick of time. How he envied those fortunate mortals who alwaysarrived at the right moment, and instinctively said the right thing!That talent had never been his. With him it was blunder.

  One thing, though, that still perplexed him, was that not once, sincehe had been in Leipzig, had he caught a glimpse of that native goodnessof heart, for which he had heard Schwarz lauded. The master had donehis duty by him--nothing more. Neither had had any personal feeling forthe other; and the words Schwarz had used this afternoon had only beenthe outcome of a long period of reserve, even of distrust. At thismoment, when he was inclined to take the onus of the misunderstandingon his own shoulders, Maurice admitted, besides his constantpreoccupation--or possibly just because of it--an innate lack ofsympathy in himself, an inability, either of heart or of imagination,to project himself into the lives and feelings of people he did notgreatly care for. Otherwise, he would not have gone to Schwarz on suchan errand as today's; he would have remembered that the master waslikely to be sore and suspicious. And, from now on, things would beworse instead of better. Schwarz had no doubt been left under theimpression that Maurice had wished to complain of his teaching; andimpressions of this nature were difficult to erase.

  There was nothing to be done, however, but to plod along in thefamiliar rut. He must stomach aspersions and injuries, behave as ifnothing had happened. His first hot intention of turning his back onSchwarz soon yielded to more worldly-wise thoughts. Every practicalconsideration was against it. He might avenge himself, if he liked, byrunning to the rival teacher like a crossed child; Schrievers wouldundoubtedly receive him with open arms, and promise him all he asked.But what could he hope to accomplish, under a complete change ofmethod, in the few months that were left? He would also have to forfeithis fees for the coming term, which were already paid. Schrievers'lessons were expensive, and out of the small sum that remained to himto live on, it would be impossible to take more than half a dozen.Another than he might have appealed to Schrievers' satisfaction insecuring a fresh convert; but Maurice had learnt too thoroughly by now,that he was not one of those happy exceptions--exceptions by reason oftheir talent or their temperament--to whom a master was willing todevote his time free of charge.

  Over these reflections night had fallen; and rising, he walked speedilyback by the dark wood-paths. But before he reached the meadows, fromwhich he could see lights blinking in the scattered villas, his stepshad lagged again. His discouragement had nothing chimerical in it atthis moment; it was part and parcel of himself.--The night was bothchilly and misty, and it was late. But a painful impression of theprevious evening lingered in his mind. Louise would be annoyed with himfor keeping her waiting; and he shrank, in advance, from the thought ofanother disagreeable scene. He was not in the mood to-night, to sootheand console.

  As he entered the MOZARTSTRASSE, he saw that there was a light inMadeleine's window. She was at home, then. He imagined her sittingquiet and busy in her pleasant room, which, except for the ring oflamplight, was sunk in peaceful shadow. This was what he needed: anhour's rest, dim light, and Madeleine's sympathetic tact.

  Without giving himself time for thought, he mounted the stair andpressed the bell-knob on the third floor.

  On seeing who her visitor was, Madeleine rose with alacrity from thewriting-table.

  "Maurice! Is it really you?"

  "I was passing. I thought I would run up ... you're surprised to seeme?"

  "Oh, well--you're a stranger now, you know."

  She was vexed with herself for showing astonishment. Moving some books,she made room for him to sit down on the sofa, and, as he was moody,and seemed in no hurry to state why he had come, she asked if she mightfinish the letter she was writing.

  "Make yourself comfortable. Here's a cushion for your head."

  Through half-closed eyes, he watched her hand travelling across thesheet of note-paper, and returning at regular intervals, with a sureswoop, to begin a fresh line. There was no sound except the gentlescratching of her pen.

  Madeleine did not look up till she had finished her letter andaddressed the envelope. Maurice had shut his eyes.

  "Are you asleep?" she roused him. "Or only tired?"

  "I've a headache."

  "I'll make you some tea."

  He watched her preparing it, and, by the time she handed him his cup,he was in the right mood for making her his confidant.

  "Look here, Madeleine," he said; "I came up to-night--The fact is, I'vedone a foolish thing. And I want to talk to some one about it."

  Her eyes grew more alert.

  "Let me see if I can help you."

  He shook his head. "I'm afraid you can't. But first of all, tell mefrankly, how you thought I got on last night."

  "How you got on?" echoed Madeleine, unclear what this was to lead to."Why, all right, of course.--Oh, well, if you insist on the truth!--Thefact is, Maurice, you did no better and no worse than the majority ofthose who fill the ABEND programmes. What you didn't do, was to reachthe standard your friends had set up for you."

  "Thanks. Now listen," and he related to her in detail his misadventureof the afternoon.

  Madeleine followed with close attention. But more distinctly than whathe said, she heard what he did not say. His account of the two lastdays, with the unintentional sidelight it threw on just those parts hewished to keep in darkness, made her aware how complicated and involvedhis life had become. But before he finished speaking, she brought allher practical intelligence to bear on what he said.

  "Maurice!" she exclaimed, with a consternation that was three partsgenuine. "I should like to shake you. How COULD you!--what induced youto do such a foolish thing?" And, as he did not speak: "If only you hadcome to me before, instead of after! I should have said: hold whatridiculous opinions you like yourself, but for goodness' sake keepclear of Schwarz with them. Yes, ridiculous, and offensive, too. Anyonewould have taken your talk about being dissatisfied just as he did. Andafter the way he has been treated of late, he's of course doublytouchy."

  "I knew that, when it was too late. But I meant merely to speakstraight out to him, Madeleine--one man to another. You surely don'twant to say he's incapable of allowing one to have an independentopinion? If that's the case, then he's nothing but the wretched littletyrant Heinz declares him to be."

  "Wait till you have taught as long as he has," said Madeleine, and, athis muttered: "God forbid!" she continued with more warmth: "You'llknow then, too, that it doesn't matter whether your pupils haveopinions or not. He has seen this kind of thing scores of times before,and knows it must be kept down."

  She paused, and looked at him. "To get on in life, one must have acertain amount of tact. You are too naive, Maurice, toounsuspecting--one of those people who would like to carry on socialintercourse on a basis of absolute truth, and then be surprised that itcame to an end. You are altogether a very difficult person to dealwith. You are either too candid, or too reserved. There's no middle wayin you. I haven't the least doubt that Schwarz finds you bothperplexing and irritati
ng; he takes the candour for impertinence, andthe reserve for distrust."

  Maurice smiled faintly. "Go on--don't spare me. No one ever troubledbefore to tell me my failings."

  "Oh, I'm quite in earnest. As I look at it, it's entirely your ownfault that you don't stand better with Schwarz. You have nevercondescended to humour him, as you ought to have done. You thought itwas enough to be truthful and honest, and to leave the rest to him.Well, it wasn't. I won't hear a word against Schwarz; he's goodnessitself to those who deserve it. A little bluff and rude at times; buthe's too busy to go about in kid gloves for fear of hurting sensitivepeople's feelings."

  "Why did you never take private lessons from him?" was her nextquestion. "I told you months ago, you remember, that you ought to.--Oh,yes, you said they were too expensive, I know, but you could havescraped a few marks together somehow. You managed to buy books, andbooks were quite unnecessary. One lesson a fortnight would have broughtyou' more into touch with Schwarz than all you have had in the class.As it is, you don't know him any better than he knows you." And as sherefilled his tea-cup, she added: "You quoted Heinz to me just now. Butyou and I can't afford to measure people by the same standards asHeinz. We are everyday mortals, remember.--Besides, in all that counts,he is not worth Schwarz's little finger."

  "You're a warm advocate, Madeleine."

  "Yes, and I've reason to be. No one here has been as kind to me asSchwarz. I came, a complete stranger, and with not more than ordinarytalent. But I went to him, and told him frankly what I wanted to do,how long I could stay, and how much money I had to spend. He helped meand advised me. He has let me study what will be of most use to meafterwards, and he takes as much interest in my future as I do myself.How can I speak anything but well of him?--What I certainly didn't do,was to go to him and talk ambiguously about feeling dissatisfied withhim ..."

  "With myself, Madeleine. Haven't I made that clear?"

  But Madeleine only sniffed.

  "Well, it's over and done with now," she said after a pause. "Andtalking about it won't mend it.--Tell me, rather, what you intend todo. What are your plans?"

  "Plans? I don't know. I haven't any. Sufficient unto the day, etc."

  But of this she disapproved with open scorn. "Rubbish! When your timehere is all but up! And no plans!--One thing, I can tell you anyhow,is, after to-day you needn't rely on Schwarz for assistance. You'vespoilt your chances with him. The only way of repairing the mischiefwould be the lesson I spoke of--one a week as long as you re here."

  "I couldn't afford it."

  "No, I suppose not," she said sarcastically, and tore a piece of paperthat came under her fingers into narrow strips. "Tell me," she added amoment later, in a changed tone: "where do you intend to settle whenyou return to England? And have you begun to think of advertisingyourself yet?"

  He waved his hand before his face as if he were chasing away a fly."For God's sake, Madeleine! ... these alluring prospects!"

  "Pray, what else do you expect to do?"

  "Well, the truth is, I ... I'm not going back to England at all. I meanto settle here."

  Madeleine repressed the exclamation that rose to her lips, and stoopedto brush something off the skirt of her dress. Her face was red whenshe raised it. She needed no further telling; she understood what hiswords implied as clearly as though it were printed black on whitebefore her. But she spoke in a casual tone.

  "However are you going to make that possible?"

  He endeavoured to explain.

  "I don't envy you," she said drily, when he had finished. "You hardlyrealise what lies before you, I think. There are people here who areglad to get fifty pfennigs an hour, for piano lessons. Think ofplodding up and down stairs, all day long, for fifty pfennigs an hour!"

  He was silent.

  "While in England, with a little tact and patience, you would soon havemore pupils than you could take at five shillings."

  "Tact and patience mean push and a thick skin. But don't worry! I shallget on all right. And if I don't--life's short, you know."

  "But you are just at: the beginning of it--and ridiculously young atthat! Good Heavens, Maurice!" she burst out, unable to contain herself."Can't you see that after you've been at home again for a little while,things that have seemed so important here will have shrunk into theirright places? You'll be glad to have done with them then, when you arein orderly circumstances again."

  "I'm afraid not," answered the young man. "I'm not a good forgetter."

  "A good forgetter!" repeated Madeleine, and laughed sarcastically. Shewas going on to say more, but, just at this moment, a clock outsidestruck ten, and Maurice sprang to his feet.

  "So late already? I'd no idea. I must be off."

  She stood by, and watched him look for his hat.

  "Here it is." She picked it up, and handed it to him, with anemphasised want of haste.

  "Good night, Madeleine. Thanks for the truth. I knew I could depend onyou."

  "It was well meant. And the truth is always beneficial, you know. Goodnight.--Come again, soon."

  He heard her last words half-way down the stairs, which he took two ata time.

  The hour he had now to face was a painful ending to an unpleasant day.It was not merely the fact that he had kept Louise waiting, in achingsuspense, for several hours. It now came out that, after theirdisagreement of the previous night, she had confidently expected him toreturn to her early in the day, had expected contrition and atonement.That he had not even suspected this made her doubly bitter against him.In vain he tried to excuse himself, to offer explanations. She wouldnot listen to him, nor would she let him touch her. She tore her dressfrom between his fingers, brushed his hand off her arm; and, retreatinginto a corner of the room, where she stood like an animal at bay, shepoured out over him her accumulated resentment. All she had eversuffered at his hands, all the infinitesimal differences there had beenbetween them, from the beginning, the fine points in which he hadfailed--things of which he had no knowledge--all these were raked upand cast at him till, numb with pain, he lost even the wish to comforther. Sitting down at the table, he laid his head on his folded arms.

  At his feet were the fragments of the little clock, which, in her angerat his desertion of her, she had trodden to pieces.