way.

XII.

Easter fell early, and the Ninth Symphony had been performed in the
Gewandhaus before March was fairly out. Now, both Conservatorium and
Gewandhaus were closed, and the familiar haunts were empty.

Hitherto, Maurice had made shift to preserve appearances: at intervals,
not too conspicuously far apart, he had gone backwards and forwards to
his classes, keeping his head above water with a minimum of work. Now,
however, there was no further need for deceiving people. Most of those
who had been his fellow-students had left Leipzig; he could not put his
finger on a single person remaining with whom he had had a nearer
acquaintance. No one was left to comment on what he did and how he
lived. And this knowledge withdrew the last prop from his sense of
propriety. He ceased to face the trouble that care for his person
implied, just as he gave up raising the lid of the piano and making a
needless pretence of work. Openly now, he took up his abode in the
BRUDERSTRASSE, where he spent the long, idle days stretched on the
sofa, rolling cigarettes--in far greater numbers than he could smoke,
and vacantly, yet with a kind of gusto, as if his fingers, so long
accustomed to violent exercise, had a relish for the task. He was
seldom free from headache; an iron ring, which it was impossible to
loosen, bound his forehead. His disinclination to speech grew upon him,
too; not only had he no thoughts that it was worth breaking the silence
to express; the effort demanded by the forming of words was too great
for him. His feeling of indifference-stupefying indifference--grew so
strong that sometimes he felt it beyond his strength consciously to
take in the shape of the objects about the room.

The days were eventless. He lay and watched her movements, which were
spiritless and hurried, by turns, but now seldom marked by the gracious
impulsiveness that had made up so large a part of her charm. He was
content to live from hour to hour at her side; for that this was his
last respite, he well knew. And the further the month advanced, the
more tenaciously he clung. The one thought which now had force to rouse
him was, that the day would come on which he would see her face for the
last time. The fact that she had given herself to another, while yet
belonging to him, ceased to affect him displeasurably, as did also his
fixed idea that she was, at the present moment, deceiving him anew. His
sole obsession was now a fear of the i