much
more.

He threw out his red under-lip and frowned. "Oh, I have no instrument!
The violin I play from necessity; the flute, the piano, as it happens.
For three years now I write all the time, and it spoils the hand for
violin."

When the maid brought him his tea, he took both muffins and cakes and
told me that he was very hungry. He had to lunch and dine at the place
where he played, and he got very tired of the food. "But since," his
black eyebrows nearly met in an acute angle, "but since, before, I eat
at a bakery, with the slender brown roach on the pie, I guess I better
let alone well enough." He paused to drink his tea; as he tasted one of
the cakes his face lit with sudden animation and he gazed across the hall
after the maid with the tray--she was now holding it before the aged and
ossified 'cellist of the Hempfstangle Quartette. "_Des gateaux_" he
murmured feelingly, "_ou est-ce qu'elle peut trouver de tels gateaux ici
a_ New York?"

I explained to him that Madame Garnet had an accomplished cook who made
them,--an Austrian, I thought.

He shook his head. "_Austrichienne? Je ne pense pas._"

Cressida was approaching with the new Spanish soprano, Mme. Bartolas, who
was all black velvet and long black feathers, with a lace veil over her
rich pallour and even a little black patch on her chin. I beckoned them.
"Tell me, Cressida, isn't Ruzenka an Austrian?"

She looked surprised. "No, a Bohemian, though I got her in Vienna."
Bouchalka's expression, and the remnant of a cake in his long fingers,
gave her the connection. She laughed. "You like them? Of course, they are
of your own country. You shall have more of them." She nodded and went
away to greet a guest who had just come in.

A few moments later, Horace, then a beautiful lad in Eton clothes,
brought another cup of tea and a plate of cakes for Bouchalka. We sat
down in a corner, and talked about his songs. He was neither boastful nor
deprecatory. He knew exactly in what respects they were excellent. I
decided as I watched his face, that he must be under thirty. The deep
lines in his forehead probably came there from his habit of frowning
densely when he struggled to express himself, and suddenly elevating his
coal-black eyebrows when his ideas cleared. His teeth were white, very
irregular and interesting. The corrective methods of modern dentistry
would have taken away half his good looks. His mouth would have been
much less attractive for any re-arr