Madeleine had waved her umbrella at him. He crossed the road to whereshe was standing in rain-cloak and galoshes. She wished to tell himthat the date of her playing in the ABENDUNTERHALTUNG had beendefinitely fixed. About to go, she said:
"Louise is back--did you know?"
Of course he knew, though he did not tell her so--knew almost the exacthour at which the blinds had been drawn up, the windows opened, and aflower-pot, in a gaudy pink paper, put out on the sill.
Not many days after this, he came upon Louise herself. She was standingtalking, at a street-corner, to the shabby little Englishman, Eggis,with whom she had walked the FOYER of the theatre. Maurice was about tobow and pass by, but she smiled and held out her hand.
"You are back, too, then? To-day I am meeting all my friends."
She had fur about her neck, although the weather was not really cold,and her face rose out of this setting like a flower from its cup.
This meeting, and the few cordial words she had spoken, helped him overthe days that followed. Sometimes, while he waited for the blow tofall, his daily life grew very unimportant; things that had hithertointerested him, now went past like shadows; he himself was a mereautomaton. But sometimes, too, and especially after he had seen Louise,and touched her living hand, he wondered whether he were not perhapstormenting himself unnecessarily. Nothing more had come to light; noone had hinted by a word at Schilsky's departure; it might yet prove tobe all a mistake.
Then, however, he received a postcard from Madeleine, saying that shehad something interesting to tell him. He went too early, and spent aquarter of an hour pacing her room. When she entered, she threw him alook, and, before she had finished taking off her wraps, said:
"Maurice, I have a piece of news for you. Schilsky is going away."
He nodded; his throat was dry.
"Why, you don't mean to say you knew?" she cried, and paused half-wayout of her jacket.
Maurice went to the window, and stood with his back to her. In one ofthe houses opposite, at a window on the same level, a girl waspractising the violin; his eyes followed the mechanical movements ofthe bow.
He cleared his throat. "Do you--Is it likely--I mean, do you think?----"
Madeleine understood him. "Yes, I do. Louise won't stay here a daylonger than he does; I'm sure of that."
But otherwise she knew no more than Maurice; and she did not offer todetain him, when, a few minutes later, he alleged a pressingappointment. Madeleine was annoyed, and showed it; she had come in withthe intention of being kind to him, of encouraging him, and discussingthe matter sympathetically, and it now turned out that not only had heknown it all the time, but had also kept it a secret from her. She didnot like underhand ways, especially in people whom she believed sheknew inside out.
Now that the pledge of secrecy had been removed from him, Maurice feltthat he wanted facts; and, without thinking more about it than if hehad been there the day before, he climbed the stairs that led toKrafft's lodging.
He found him at supper; Avery was present, too, and on the table satWotan, who was being regaled with strips of skin off the sausage.Krafft greeted Maurice with a touch of his former effusiveness; for hewas in a talkative mood, and needed an audience. At his order, Averyput an extra plate on the table, and Maurice had to share their meal.It was not hard for him to lead Krafft round to the desired subject. Itseemed that one of the masters in the Conservatorium had expressed avery unequivocal opinion of Schilsky's talents as a composer, andKrafft was now sarcastic, now merry, at this critic's expense. Mauricelaid down his knife, and, in the first break, asked abruptly: "Whendoes he go?"
"Go?--who?" said Krafft indifferently, tickling Wotan's nose with apiece of skin which he held out of reach.
"Who?--why, Schilsky, of course."
It sounded as if another than he had said the words: they were so shortand harsh. The plate Avery was holding fell to the floor. Krafft satback in his chair, and stared at Maurice, with a face that was all eyes.
"You knew he was going away?--or didn't you?" asked Maurice in a roughvoice. "Every one knows. The whole place knows."
Krafft laughed. "The whole place knows: every one knows," he repeated."Every one, yes--every one but me. Every one but me, who had most rightto know. Yes, I alone had the right; for no one has loved him as Ihave."
He rose from the table, knocking over his chair. "Or else it is nottrue?"
"Yes, it is true. Then you didn't know?" said Maurice, bewildered bythe outburst he had evoked.
"No, we didn't know." It was Avery who spoke. She was on her knees,picking up the pieces of the plate with slow, methodical fingers.
Krafft stood hesitating. Then he went to the piano, opened it, adjustedthe seat, and made all preparations for playing. But with his fingersready on the keys, he changed his mind and, instead, laid his arms onthe folded rack and his head on his arms. He did not stir again, and along silence followed. The only sound that was to be heard came fromWotan, who, sitting on his haunches on a corner of the table, washedthe white fur of his belly with an audible swish.
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