, his unceasing care of her, and, closing
her eyes, stretched out her arms to him, in the empty room. Already she
began to live for the following evening, when he would come again. Now,
only to sleep through as many as she could of the hours that separated
them! She would be to him the next night, what she had never yet been:
his own rival in fondness. And as a beginning, she crossed the room,
and put the fading roses in a pitcher of water.

IV.

Towards seven o'clock the following evening, Maurice loitered about the
vestibule of the Conservatorium. In spite of his attempt to time
himself, he had arrived too early, and his predecessor on the programme
had still to play two movements of a sonata by Beethoven.

As he stood there, Madeleine entered by the street-door.

"Is that you?" she asked, in the ironical tone she now habitually used
to him. "You look just as if you were posing for the John in a Rubens
Crucifixion.--Feel shaky? No? You ought to, you know. One plays all the
better for it.--Well, good luck to you! I'll hold my thumbs."

He went along the passage to the little green-room, at the heels of his
string-players. On seeing them go by, it had occurred to him that he
might draw their attention to a passage in the VARIATIONS, with which
he had not been satisfied at rehearsal that day. But when he caught
them up, they were so deep in talk that he hesitated to interrupt. The
'cellist, a greasy, little fellow with a mop of touzled hair, was
relating an adventure he had had the night before. His droll way of
telling it was more amusing than the long-winded story, and he himself
was more tickled by it than was the violinist, a lanky German-American
boy, with oily black hair and a pimpled face. Throughout, both tuned
their instruments assiduously, with that air of inattention common to
string-players.

Meanwhile, the sonata by Beethoven ran its course. While the
story-teller still smacked his lips, it came to an end, and the
performer, a tall, Polish girl, with a long, sallow, bird-like neck,
round which was wound a piece of black velvet, descended the steps.
Behind her was heard the applause of many hands. As this showed no sign
of ceasing, Schwarz, who had come out of the hall by a lower door, bade
her return and bow her thanks. At his words, the girl burst into tears.

"NA, NA, NA!" he said soothingly. "What's all this about? You did
excellently."

She seized his hand and clung to it. The 'cellist r