own."

He laid two of the cakes on top of each other, sliced them through, and
put one of the pieces thus obtained in his mouth. Maurice had risen,
and stood waiting for the breathing-space into which he could thrust
words of apology.

"I beg your pardon, Herr Professor," he now began. "You misunderstand
me. Nothing was further from my mind than----"

But Schwarz had not finished speaking; he rapped the table with his
knife-handle, and, working himself up to a white heat, continued: "But
plain and plump, I'll tell you this, Herr Guest"--he pronounced it
"Gvest." "If you are not satisfied with me, and my teaching, you're at
liberty to try some one else. If this is a preliminary to inscribing
yourself under that miserable humbug, that wretched charlatan, who
pretends to teach the piano, do it, and have done with it! No one will
hinder you--certainly not I. You're under no necessity to come here
beforehand, and apologise, and give your reasons--none of the others
did. Slink off like them, without a word! it's the more decent way in
the long run. They at least knew they were behaving like blackguards."

"You have completely misunderstood me, Herr Schwarz. If you will give
me a moment to explain----"

But Schwarz was in no mood for explanations; he went on again, paying
no heed to Maurice's interruption.

"Who wouldn't rather break stones by the roadside than be a teacher?"
he asked, and sliced and ate, sliced and ate. "Look at the years of
labour I have behind me--twenty and more!--in which I've toiled to the
best of my ability, eight and nine hours, day after day, and eternally
for ends that weren't my own!--And what return do I get for it? A
new-comer only needs to wave a red flag before them, and all alike rush
blindly to him. A pupil of Liszt?--bah! Who was Liszt? A barrel-organ
of execution; a perverter of taste; a worthy ally of that upstart who
ruined melody, harmony, and form. Don't talk to me of Liszt!"

He spoke in spurts, blusteringly, but indistinctly, owing to the
fullness of his mouth.

"But I'm not to be imposed on. I know their tricks. Haven't I myself
had pupils turn to me from Bulow and Rubinstein? Is that not proof
enough? Would they have come if they hadn't known what my method was
worth? And I took them, and spared no pains to make something of them.
Haven't I a right to expect some gratitude from them in
return?--Gratitude? Such a thing doesn't exist; it's a word without
meaning, a puffing of