his left followed with
full-bodied chords, each of which exceeded the octave. Before, however,
there was time to laugh, this riot ceased, and became a mournful
cadence, to the slowly passing harmonies of which, Krafft sang:

I am weary of everything that is, under the sun.
I sicken at the long lines of rain, which are black against the sky;
They drip, for a restless heart, with the drip of despair:
For me, winds must rage, trees bend, and clouds sail stormily.

The whirlwind of the prelude commenced anew; the chords became still
vaster; the player swayed from side to side, like a stripling-tree in a
storm. Madeleine said, "Tch!" in disgust, but the rest of the company,
who had only waited for this, burst into peals of laughter; some bent
double in their seats, some leant back with their chins in the air.
Even Dove smiled. Just, however, as those whose sense of humour was
most highly developed, mopped their faces with gestures of exhaustion,
and assured their neighbours that they "could not, really could not
laugh any more," Furst entered and flapped his hands.

"Here he comes!"

A sudden silence fell, broken only by a few hysterical giggles from the
ladies, and by a frivolous American, who cried: "Now for ALSO SCHRIE
ZENOPHOBIA!" Krafft stopped playing, but remained sitting at the piano,
wiping down the keys with his handkerchief.

Schilsky came in, somewhat embarrassed by the lull which had succeeded
the hubbub heard in the passage, but wholly unconcerned at the lateness
of the hour: except in matters of practical advancement, time did not
exist for him. As soon as he appeared, the two ladies in the front row
began to clap their hands; the rest of the company followed their
example, then, in spite of Furst's efforts to prevent it, rose and
crowded round him. Miss Jensen and her friend made themselves
particularly conspicuous. Mrs Lauterischlager had an infatuation for
the young man, of which she made no secret; she laid her hand
caressingly on his coat-sleeve, and put her face as near his as
propriety admitted.

"Disgusting, the way those women go on with him!" said Madeleine. "And
what is worse, he likes it."

Schilsky listened to the babble of compliments with that mixture of
boyish deference and unequivocal superiority, which made him so
attractive to women. He was too good-natured to interrupt them and free
himself, and would have stood as long as they liked, if Furst had not
come to the rescue