Pinac and Fico noticed it and so did Miss Husted. Poons probably would
have noticed it, too, if he had not been in love. But Jenny was the
only one who really felt the change in Professor Von Barwig. Try as he
would, the old man could not conceal from them the fact that "something
had happened." Not that he was not just as affable to Miss Husted as
ever, not that he was any less warm in his manner toward his friends,
but there was something missing and Jenny was the only one who came
anywhere near guessing the truth. "He has found some one whom he loves
more than us," thought she, and she felt glad at heart for his sake;
though she did not understand.
"He feels so bad with himself that we have lost our engagement through
him that he cannot come over it," said Fico in answer to Pinac's query
as to what was the matter with Von Barwig. They knew there was no
chance now of their getting the symphony engagement, for Van Praag,
hampered by creditors, unable to carry out his contracts owing to the
strike, had gone into bankruptcy and retired from the venture with the
loss of all his money. He wrote a letter to Von Barwig saying he was
going back to Germany, where musical art was one thing and bricks
another. Von Barwig sadly showed them the letter, but his mind was so
taken up with his new pupil that he did not feel the loss of the
engagement as they did.
And yet his financial position was daily growing worse and worse, for
he had practically no pupils at all--that is, no paying pupils.
Besides this, the weather was so cold and business had dropped off to
such an extent at the Museum that Costello had been compelled to reduce
Von Barwig's salary fifty per cent. "A half a loaf is better than
none," he had told the night professor as he handed him his envelope
with half salary in it; so Von Barwig had been compelled to take what
he could get. He now seriously considered moving upstairs.
"We haven't a room vacant," said Miss Husted in a decided tone; "and if
we had," tenderly, "no, professor, no top floor for you! I couldn't
bear the idea of it; I couldn't really! Pay me when you get it," she
said when the old man pleaded that he must live within his means.
"But I may never get it," expostulated the professor.
"Oh, yes, you will," confidently replied Miss Husted. "Mrs. Mangenborn
says it is in the cards that great fortune is coming to you."
"In the next world, perhaps," said Von Barwig, laughing in spite of
himself.
"Besides," went on Miss Husted, "it doesn't matter one way or the
other. I could never bear the idea. Stay here for my sake," she
pleaded when she saw that the professor was obstinate; and so he
remained in his old rooms, though he squeezed every penny in order to
pay her.
On the afternoon following his interview with his father, Beverly
Cruger made up his mind to speak to Hélène, to ask her to be his wife.
He called at her home, and was informed by Joles that she was engaged;
that a German gentleman was giving her music instruction, and that her
orders were that she was not to be disturbed. Beverly left his card,
intending to call the next day, but the fates were against him, and he
was sent for by the State Department in regard to his diplomatic
position and had to go to Washington. On his return to New York a week
later, he again called on Miss Stanton. To his astonishment and, it
must be confessed, to his extreme annoyance, he found Miss Stanton
again "engaged." Herr Von Barwig, her music master, was there.
"Please take up my card, Joles, and tell Miss Stanton that I wish to
see her on a matter of the utmost importance--the utmost importance,"
repeated Beverly.
"Yes, sir," replied Joles.
"Herr Von Barwig appears to be _persona gratissima_," thought Beverly,
and then it occurred to him that it was very strange that an
accomplished musician like Hélène Stanton should take music lessons.
"He must be a very superior sort of a musical personage, very superior
indeed." Beverly would not acknowledge even to himself that he
resented Herr Von Barwig's presence at the Stantons'. "How can our
American women be so deceived by the artificial deference, the
insincere, highly polished politeness of these foreigners!" he mused.
"Von Barwig is probably an offshoot of some noble German house, but
she's not apt to be attracted by an empty title!" He had loved her for
months, he told himself, and each time he had made up his mind to speak
this foreigner had been the means of preventing him.
"Send him up please, Joles. I want you to meet Mr. Cruger, Herr Von
Barwig," said Hélène as she glanced at the card Joles handed her, and
rose from the piano where she was taking a lesson. "I haven't seen him
for days and days; I wondered what had become of him."
Von Barwig noticed the heightened colour in Miss Stanton's cheeks and
he made a mental note that he must like Mr. Beverly Cruger, too, yet,
if the truth must be known, he felt a pang of regret. "She loves him,"
he said to himself, "she will forget me."
"Shall we not continue the lesson?" he said aloud.
Hélène shook her head. "No more to-day," she said.
"Then Miss Stanton will perhaps pardon my leaving," said Von Barwig.
"On the contrary, Herr Professor, Miss Stanton insists on your
remaining," said Hélène, motioning him to a seat. Von Barwig bowed
deferentially.
"You have disappointed me to-day," he said. "Ach, your tempos
change--like the winds! At one moment it is 6-8, the next 2-4, and
almost in the same measure, you play 4-4. At one moment you play with
your thumbs, like a little girl; at another, you play like a
professional, an artist. I cannot understand it. Technically I don't
know where you are. I am puzzled! I admit it; I am puzzled," and he
looked at her in perplexed uncertainty.
Hélène's only answer was a ripple of laughter. She was beginning to
enjoy her own cleverness in deceiving him, and his confusion endeared
him to her more than ever. The greater his perplexity the more she
sympathised with him.
"Poor old gentleman," she thought, "It is downright wicked of me to
deceive him. But what can I do? If I let him know I don't need his
services he will not come."
"I have made up my mind to bring you some simple exercises for our next
lesson, Miss Stanton. No more Bach and unevenly played Beethoven!"
said Von Barwig. "It is necessary that we begin at the beginning and
work up. That's it! We begin all over again, at the very beginning,
and work up to the top. Then you will have some style, some form, some
technique that you can call your own."
"Oh, dear, you're not going to make me play exercises, are you? Oh,
Herr Von Barwig, dear Herr Von Barwig, please don't!" said Hélène, with
such a pleading accent that Von Barwig was compelled to smile.
"It just serves me right," she thought. "I shall literally have to
face the music," she said to herself with a laugh.
Beverly Cruger heard that laugh as he came into the room, and he made
up his mind that Herr Von Barwig was one of those highly entertaining
foreigners who appeal to the feminine mind with their superficial
brilliancy and capture all before them.
"Herr Von Barwig, this is Mr. Beverly Cruger," broke in Hélène, and Mr.
Cruger was formally introduced to his rival.
Beverly could hardly repress a smile as his eyes fell on the slim
figure of the poor, grey-headed, homely old artist. Was this the noble
young foreigner, the handsome German music master he had pictured to
himself? Was this Hélène's romance?
"Gott in Himmel, what a squeeze he gives the hand!" thought Von Barwig,
as he tried to release his injured digits from the vice that held them.
"I am so glad to see you, Herr Von Barwig," said Beverly; and he meant
it.
"Yes, and I, too," groaned Von Barwig as he rubbed his fingers. "A
fine fellow," he thought. "Such a welcome as that must come from the
heart. But ach Gott, what a muscle! It's like iron!"
Hélène was surprised. Beverly Cruger was far and away the most
undemonstrative man of her acquaintance, and his cordial greeting of
her old music master went straight to her heart. "He likes him
because--perhaps, because I do," she thought.
"Do you know you remind me very much of a splendid bust of Beethoven I
saw in the British Museum? Upon my word you do!"
Von Barwig bowed.
"Oh, I think Mozart rather than Beethoven," suggested Hélène. "He's
not stern enough for Beethoven."
Again Von Barwig bowed.
Beverly Cruger shook his head. "Beethoven," he said, looking at Von
Barwig critically. "Still--well--I'm not sure, perhaps----"
"Mozart," insisted Hélène.
"Are you sure you don't mean Liszt? We really do look alike!" Von
Barwig said, with a twinkle in his eye. Then he added, "Ah, you are
very kind to me, very kind! Dear me, I am afraid you spoil me. Those
are the giants, the leaders of a great art. I am the most humble of
all its followers. Even to resemble them is in itself a great honour."
Hélène could never quite clearly remember how or when Von Barwig took
his leave that memorable afternoon, but when he came on the following
day to give his lesson she held both his hands in hers.
"You shall be the first one to hear the news," she said almost in a
whisper. "I'm so happy, so very, very happy!" He looked at her, and
understood.
"Herr Cruger?" he asked. She nodded affirmatively.
"How did you know?"
"Ah! He is an excellent young man; I approve very highly of him."
Then he was afraid of his own temerity. "What right had he to approve?
He must curb his tongue," he thought. "I beg your pardon! I mean he
is a most excellent gentleman."
Hélène hardly heard him, for her thoughts were far away at that moment.
"I wonder what father will say?" she said.
Von Barwig started. The word father sounded strange, as if a discord
had been struck in the midst of a beautiful harmony. "Why should I
feel like that?" he asked himself. "Barwig, you are a fool, a madman!
Mr. Stanton is her father; I must love him, too. My heart must not
beat every time I hear his name. Come! Let us go to work; our
studies--" he said aloud, tapping the book. "We must go to work. I
have brought with me the book of exercises."
"No! no study to-day. But please don't go--just yet," she added as Von
Barwig prepared to take his departure. "Sit down! I am going to be
very angry with you."
"Angry with me?" the old man smiled. He knew it was only the girl's
way of finding some little trivial fault with him. "Angry with me," he
repeated. "And you said you were so very, very happy."
"Yes, I forgot when you came in that I ought to be very angry with you."
"Ah, you ought to be, but you are not! No, surely not," said Von
Barwig gently.
"Why did you send me back my cheque? This one! Don't look so
innocent; you know what I mean, sir!" and Hélène held up the cheque
that Von Barwig had found awaiting him at his room the night before,
and that he had carefully mailed back to her.
Von Barwig looked pained.
"Herr Von Barwig, let us have a little understanding!" said Hélène in a
far more serious tone than she usually took with her music master.
"Ah, don't be angry, please don't be angry to-day! Not on such a day
as this!" he urged. "To-morrow you may scold me if you like; but
to-day, no, please, no!" and he looked at her so pleadingly that Hélène
was forced to smile. "I wish nothing to happen that shall interfere
with the happiness that has come to you," he added.
But Hélène was insistent. "It has been on my mind some time to ask you
why you take such an interest in me," she said, "and now this," and she
looked at the cheque.
Von Barwig was silent. What could he say? He dared not tell her the
real reason.
"When I came to your studio with the little boy and asked you to teach
him, you refused to accept money. Your reasons were that you were
devoted to your art and that you loved to help the children of the
poor. Surely I don't come under _that_ classification, Herr Von
Barwig?"
"Oh, no, no!" faltered poor Von Barwig.
"Then why do you refuse to take my money? Heaven only knows you've
worked hard enough for it! Your efforts to instill your ideas into my
head deserve far greater recognition than mere money payment."
"No, no! I have not worked. It has been so great a pleasure. No,
decidedly there has been no work! I do not feel myself entitled to
take, until you show some progress." Von Barwig felt himself on terra
firma again.
"All that is begging the question, my dear Maestro! Whether your work
affords you pleasure or no, it is still your work. Teaching is your
means of livelihood, is it not?"
"Not altogether; I play at--" and then he thought of the Dime Museum
and was silent. He looked at her; she was regarding him quite
seriously, and he was afraid he had offended her. There was a pause
during which he tried to think out a course of action calculated to
offset his mistake. Hélène broke the silence.
"You left your own country, where I understand you were well known and
successful, and you came over here, where, pardon my saying so, you are
not known and where you--" Hélène hesitated slightly, "where you are
not so prosperous. When I bring you a pupil you refuse to take money
for his tuition. When I take lessons from you myself, you refuse to
take money from me. Now, my dear Herr Von Barwig, I confess that I
cannot understand! You must explain." There was a dead silence.
"What does it mean?" demanded Hélène. Von Barwig looked at her
helplessly. He had no explanation, or, rather, he realised that the
one he had was insufficient.
"Why do you take so much interest in me?" she asked.
"At first for a likeness, a likeness to some one I knew," replied Von
Barwig, in a low voice. "You resemble a memory I have known, a memory
that gives me so much happiness. She is gone, and now you--pardon the
liberty--you take her place. I take interest because it was she--and
it is now--you--you--a fresh young girl that will never grow old! You
have taken the place of--of--" Von Barwig could not go on. He knew
what he meant, but he could not express it.
"As I said before, Herr Von Barwig," and Hélène spoke now with less
show of wounded dignity, "I do not understand. It is simply
incomprehensible, but it amounts to this--you must not refuse this
cheque. If you do, I--I shall be compelled to--to refuse to go on with
my lessons," and Hélène held out the cheque toward him. Von Barwig
looked at her; his sweet melancholy smile deepened as he slowly shook
his head.
"If you knew, if you knew, Miss Hélène, how I love to teach you, you
would realise that I am over-compensated now. I am a foolish old man,
I suppose, a foolish, sentimental old man! Perhaps I do not understand
the ways of this country. Here there is no what we call _esprit de
corps_, no enthusiasm, no love of art for the sake of art, no love of
beauty for the mere sake of beauty. All is exchange and barter; so
much done, so much to be paid for. Music, bricks, painting, sculpture
and sewing machines all in one item--all to be paid for. Here for me
is fairyland! It may not be fairyland for others, but for me it is
fairyland. When I walk up the steps of this house and ring the bell, I
stand there impatiently till your Mr. Joles opens up for me heaven.
When I tell you that Mr. Joles is for me an angel, the archangel that
unlocks for me paradise, you will realise to what extent I separate
this world of love, of joy, of happiness, the world over which you
preside, from the outside world, where together come music and bricks
and human misery. Here is my heaven, my haven of rest and sweet
contentment. Shall I take money for it; shall I be paid for my
happiness? Ah, Fräulein, Fräulein, I dream, I dream! For sixteen
years I have not rested. Don't wake me, please don't wake me!"
Hélène tore the cheque into little pieces.
"To-morrow at three, Herr Von Barwig," she said. And when he had gone
she burst into tears without in the least knowing why.