hold of his fancy. Sometimes his voice
was rough and harsh and screeching, and sometimes it was low and
drawling and singing; but at no time did it harmonize with what he was
talking about. Music was the subject of conversation; the praises of a
new composer were being sung, when Krespel, smiling, said in his low
singing tones, "I wish the devil with his pitchfork would hurl that
atrocious garbler of music millions of fathoms down to the bottomless
pit of hell!" Then he burst out passionately and wildly, "She is an
angel of heaven, nothing but pure God-given music!--the paragon and
queen of song!"--and tears stood in his eyes. To understand this, we
had to go back to a celebrated _artiste_, who had been the subject of
conversation an hour before.

Just at this time a roast hare was on the table; I noticed that Krespel
carefully removed every particle of meat from the bones on his plate,
and was most particular in his inquiries after the hare's feet; these
the Professor's little five-year-old daughter now brought to him with a
very pretty smile. Besides, the children had cast many friendly glances
towards Krespel during dinner; now they rose and drew nearer to him,
but not without signs of timorous awe. What's the meaning of that?
thought I to myself. Dessert was brought in; then the Councillor took a
little box from his pocket, in which he had a miniature lathe of steel.
This he immediately screwed fast to the table, and turning the bones
with incredible skill and rapidity, he made all sorts of little fancy
boxes and balls, which the children received with cries of delight.
Just as we were rising from table, the Professor's niece asked, "And
what is our Antonia doing?" Krespel's face was like that of one who has
bitten of a sour orange and wants to look as if it were a sweet one;
but this expression soon changed into the likeness of a hideous mask,
whilst he laughed behind it with downright bitter, fierce, and as it
seemed to me, satanic scorn. "Our Antonia? our dear Antonia?" he asked
in his drawling, disagreeable singing way. The Professor hastened to
intervene; in the reproving glance which he gave his niece I read that
she had touched a point likely to stir up unpleasant memories in
Krespel's heart. "How are you getting on with your violins?" interposed
the Professor in a jovial manner, taking the Councillor by both hands.
Then Krespel's countenance cleared up, and with a firm voice he
replied, "Capitally, Professor