" she roared, "peace, the same old story: you want peace!" She
threw a wild, contemptuous glance at the open chest containing Daniel's
scores, leaned against the table, put the tips of her dirty fingers on
the score he was then studying, and shrieked: "There is the cause of the
whole _malheur_! The whole _malheur_, I say, comes from this damned
note-smearing of yours! The idea of a man settin' down and dabbing them
pot-hooks on good white paper, day after day, year in and year out! What
does it all mean? Tell me! While you're doin' it, everything else is
moving--like a crab, backwards. Jesus, you're a man, and yet you spend
your time at that kind of stuff! I'd be ashamed to admit it."

Not prepared for this enigmatic outburst of anger and hate, Daniel
looked at Philippina utterly dazed. "Get out of here," he cried
indignantly. "Get out of here, I say," and pointed to the door.

She got out. "The damned dabbery!" she bellowed with reinforced
maliciousness.

From ten to twelve, Daniel had to lecture at the conservatory. His heart
beat violently, though he was unable to explain his excitement. It was
more than a foreboding: he felt as if he had heard a piece of terribly
bad news and the real nature of it had slipped his memory.

He did not go home for luncheon; he ate in the cafe at the Carthusian
Gate. Then he took a long walk out over the fields and meadows. It had
stopped raining, and the brisk wind refreshed him. He stood for a long
while on the banks of the canal, and watched some men piling bricks at a
brick-kiln. From time to time he took a piece of paper from his pocket,
and wrote something on it with his pencil: it was notes.

Once he wrote alongside of a motif: "Farewell, my music!" His eyes were
filled with dreadful tears.

He returned to the city just as the sun was setting; it looked like a
huge ball of fire in the west. The sky shone out between two great black
clouds like the forge of a smithy. He could not help but think of
Eleanore.

He entered his living room, and paced back and forth. Philippina came
in, and asked him whether she should warm up his soup for him. Her
unnatural, singing tone attracted his attention; he looked at her very
closely.

"Where is my wife?" he asked.

Philippina's face betrayed an abysmally mean smile, but she never said a
word.

"Where is my wife?" he asked a second time, after a pause.

Philippina's smile became brighter. "Is it cold out?" she asked, and in
a mome