he saw faces that he recognised lean out of the
projecting windows, to watch the life and bustle below, to catch the
last sunbeam that filtered in; he saw them take their daily walk along
these very streets, in the antiquated garments of their time. They
passed him by, shadelike and misanthropic, and seemed to steal down the
opposite side, to avoid his too pertinent gaze. Bluff, preoccupied, his
keen eyes lowered, the burly Cantor passed, as he had once done day
after day, with the disciplined regularity of high genius, of the
honest citizen, to his appointed work in the shadows of the organ-loft;
behind him, one who had pointed to the giant with a new burst of
ardour, the genial little improviser, whose triumphs had been those of
this town, whose fascinating gifts and still more fascinating
personality, had made him the lion of his age. And it was only another
step in this train of half-conscious thought, that, before a large
lettered poster, which stood out black and white against the reds and
yellows of the circular advertisement-column, and bore the word
"Siegfried," Maurice Guest should not merely be filled with the
anticipation of a world of beauty still unexplored, but that the world
should stand to him for a symbol, as it were, of the easeful and
luxurious side of a life dedicated to art--of a world-wide fame; the
society of princes, kings; the gloss of velvet; the dull glow of
gold.--And again, tapering vistas opened up, through which he could
peer into the future, happy in the knowledge, that he stood firm in a
present which made all things possible to a holy zeal, to an
unhesitating grasp.

But it was growing late, and he slowly retraced his steps. In the
restaurant into which he turned for dinner, he was the only customer.
The principal business of the day was at an end; two waiters sat dozing
in corners, and a man behind the counter, who was washing metal-topped
beer-glasses, had almost the whole pile polished bright before him.
Maurice Guest sat down at a table by the window; and, when he had
finished his dinner and lighted a cigarette, he watched the passers-by,
who crossed the pane of glass like the figures in a moving photograph.

Suddenly the door opened with an energetic click, and a lady came in,
enveloped in an old-fashioned, circular cloak, and carrying on one arm
a pile of paper-covered music. This, she laid on the table next that at
which the young man was sitting, then took off her hat. When s