epeat to him the spiteful remark. It was the more amazing to him
because it was the first unmistakable proof of the utter ingratitude of
his protegee. In his great indignation he did not notice the extreme
coolness of Frau Constanze's reception. Without stopping to take breath
he poured out his grievance, and well-nigh roused her pity; yet she held
conscientiously to her determination that he should not so easily escape
punishment. So when he awoke from a sound sleep shortly after noon, he
found neither wife nor children at home, and the table was spread for
him alone.

Ever since Mozart's marriage there had been little which could make him
so unhappy as any slight cloud between his better half and himself. If
he had only known how heavy an anxiety had burdened her during the past
few days! But, as usual, she had put off as long as possible the
unpleasant communication. Her money was now almost spent, and there was
no prospect that they should soon have more. Although Mozart did not
guess this state of affairs, yet his heart sank with discouragement and
uncertainty. He did not wish to eat; he could not stay in the house. He
dressed himself quickly, to go out into the air. On the table he left an
open note in Italian:

"You have taken a fair revenge, and treated me quite as I deserved.
But be kind and smile again when I come home, I beg you. I should like
to turn Carthusian or Trappist and make amends for my sins."

Then he took his hat, but not his cane--that had had its
day--and set off.

Since we have excused Frau Constanze from telling so much of her story
we may as well spare her a little longer. The good man sauntered along
past the market toward the armory--it was a warm, sunshiny, summer
afternoon--and slowly and thoughtfully crossed the Hof, and, turning to
the left, climbed the Moelkenbastei, thus avoiding the greetings of
several acquaintances who were just entering the town.

Although the silent sentinel who paced up and down beside the cannon did
not disturb him, he stopped but a few minutes to enjoy the beautiful
view across the green meadows and over the suburbs to the Kahlenberg.
The peaceful calm of nature was too little in sympathy with his
thoughts. With a sigh he set out across the esplanade, and so went on,
without any particular aim, through the Alser-Vorstadt.

At the end of Waehringer Street there was an inn, with a bowling alley;
the proprietor, a master rope-maker, was as well known