selves, standing a little outside the
halo of light, were like shadows passing swiftly and noiselessly back
and forth. At the far end of the room was an organ, and to the left a
little balcony, built out as though for an orchestra. Hamel looked about
him almost in wonderment. There was something curiously impressive in
the size of the apartment and its emptiness.

"A trespasser," Mr. Fentolin continued, as he took up the menu and
criticised it through his horn-rimmed eyeglass, "that is what I have
been, without a doubt."

"But for your interest and consequent trespass," Hamel remarked, "I
should probably have found the roof off and the whole place in ruins."

"Instead of which you found the door locked against you," Mr. Fentolin
pointed out. "Well, we shall see. I might, at any rate, have lost the
opportunity of entertaining you here this evening. I am particularly
glad to have an opportunity of making you known to my niece and nephew.
I think you will agree with me that here are two young people who are
highly to be commended. I cannot offer them a cheerful life here. There
is little society, no gaiety, no sort of excitement. Yet they never
leave me. They seem to have no other interest in life but to be always
at my beck and call. A case, Mr. Hamel, of really touching devotion. If
anything could reconcile me to my miserable condition, it would be the
kindness and consideration of those by whom I am surrounded."

Hamel murmured a few words of cordial agreement. Yet he found himself,
in a sense, embarrassed. Gerald was looking down upon his plate and
his face was hidden. Esther's features had suddenly become stony and
expressionless. Hamel felt instinctively that something was wrong.

"There are compensations," Mr. Fentolin continued, with the air of one
enjoying speech, "which find their way into even the gloomiest of lives.
As I lie on my back, hour after hour, I feel all the more conscious
of this. The world is a school of compensations, Mr. Hamel. The
interests--the mental interests, I mean--of unfortunate people like
myself, come to possess in time a peculiar significance and to yield
a peculiar pleasure. I have hobbies, Mr. Hamel. I frankly admit it.
Without my hobbies, I shudder to think what might become of me. I might
become a selfish, cruel, misanthropical person. Hobbies are indeed a
great thing."

The brother and sister sat still in stony silence. Hamel, looking across
the little table with its glitteri