As Von Barwig walked wearily up the stairway leading from the third
floor to the top floor (or _atelier_ as Miss Husted preferred to call
it), he heard the sounds of music. It was Fico playing a waltz, "The
Artist's Life," on the mandolin, while Poons extemporised a _pizzicato_
accompaniment on the 'cello.
"Ah, my boys, they are in," he said to himself. "I hope they didn't
wait breakfast for me."
"Professor, professor!" came the cheery voice of Miss Husted, as she
greeted him warmly. "I'm so glad to see you!"
The music stopped.
"Hello, Anton, old friend," cried Fico as he grasped Von Barwig by the
hand.
"Go on playing, don't stop for me!" said Von Barwig, taking off his
rubbers and brushing the snow off his hat and coat.
Poons hurriedly put away his 'cello. He was ashamed of playing
ordinary waltz music in the presence of Von Barwig. With him tradition
was strong; the old man was still Herr Von Barwig, the great Leipsic
Gewandhaus Concert conductor, with whom his father had had the honour
of playing first horn.
The boy's mother had instilled this into his very soul.
"Why, Great Scott! Look at him! Where have you been? _Ma foi_, you
look like a wedding; oh, Fico?" and Pinac pointed to Von Barwig.
"That's so, professor, you look just as handsome as a bridegroom,"
burst out Miss Husted.
Von Barwig wore a grey satin tie, a flower was pinned in the lapel of
his old Prince Albert coat, and his spotlessly clean cuffs and kid
gloves gave him an appearance of festivity that was most unusual. "A
wedding? You are right, all of you!" said Von Barwig, with a deep
breath. Then he added, "I have been to a wedding, yes, a wedding! Ah,
Jenny, how is my little girl?" Von Barwig took the flower he had in
his coat and placed it in her hand. "Wear it, Jenny, wear it! Perhaps
it will bring you good fortune! There should be two weddings, not
one," he added, looking at Poons.
"Two, indeed!" ejaculated Miss Husted, with a toss of her curls. "One
is too many sometimes!" Then she asked suddenly, "Have you had your
breakfast yet?"
Von Barwig shook his head.
"Then, professor, you won't say no to a bite of hot breakfast with me,"
and Miss Husted smiled sweetly. Von Barwig still shook his head.
"Ah, do," pleaded Jenny.
"Dear, good, kind hearts, no! Many thousand thanks, no! I have much
to do. Early to-morrow morning, my--" He was going to tell them that
the steamship on which he had taken passage was going to sail early
next morning. He looked at them all and did not complete his sentence.
"How can I tell them I am going to leave them forever," he thought.
"I am not at all hungry; I have had breakfast, I assure you," he added
quickly, partly to change the subject, and partly to avoid breakfasting
alone with Miss Husted. He was in no mood to listen to imaginary
troubles.
"I'm sorry, very sorry!" sighed that lady, and she went downstairs,
disappointed, taking Jenny with her.
Von Barwig put on his little velvet house coat. "What have you for
lunch, boys?" he asked. "I am a bit hungry."
"I thought so," said Pinac, quickly jumping up and opening the cupboard
which housed their slender stock of provisions. "Some sausage, some
loaf, some cold potato," he said, as he surveyed the contents of the
shelf on which reposed the articles mentioned.
"Good; splendid!" said Von Barwig.
Fico laid the cloth while Poons set the knives and forks.
"And here's a 'arf bottle of wine," said Pinac.
"The same wine as yesterday?" asked Von Barwig.
"The very same wine," replied Pinac, handing him the bottle.
The old man pulled out the cork and smelled the contents of the bottle.
"It _was_ wine; it _is_ vinegar," he remarked tersely as he handed
Pinac back the bottle. "I prefer coffee!"
Pinac rushed to get it. Poons put on a few coals and some more wood
into the little stove, and the process of coffee-making began.
"There's nothing like hot coffee to cheer you up on a cold day," said
Von Barwig, rubbing his hands. "Not that I need cheering up, boys," he
added quickly; "but hot coffee, the smell alone is enough
to--to--whoever invented hot coffee was a genius! The chord of the
ninth and the diminished seventh were ordinary discoveries; any
musician was bound to stumble across them sooner or later. But this,"
and he poured the ground coffee into the pot, "is a positive invention
of genius!"
Pinac noticed that Von Barwig was thinking of something else than what
he was saying, for his eyes were glistening, and he was obviously
labouring under some great excitement.
"We could have waited for you, Anton, but we were cold," said Pinac.
"And hungry," added Fico.
"You were right; quite right!" said Von Barwig.
"Whose wedding did you attend, Anton?" asked Pinac.
"A pupil's wedding," answered Von Barwig quickly; as if he expected the
question and was prepared to answer it. "Gott in Himmel, it's cold!
Ha, of course," and he looked up; "that skylight isn't mended! Dear
Miss Husted, she always forgets it. I must fix it myself. Yes," he
went on thoughtfully, "a pupil of mine was married; a young lady. She
is very happy, very happy; and I am happy that she is happy--I must
always remember that."
"Remember what?" inquired Fico after a pause.
"Always remember that this is a happy moment and that I must live on
it. This moment is my future; it is all I have to live on. The
wedding day of my pupil is the sum and end of all for me."
"Was it a fine wedding, Anton?" asked Pinac gently. He could see that
the old man was much moved and he wanted to bring him out of the world
of abstract ideas into the world of tangible, concrete thought.
"Very fine," replied Von Barwig. There was silence for a moment, then
he went on reminiscently: "The father and mother of the bridegroom sat
in church. The mother of my little pupil is dead, or she--she would
have been there. When the minister said, 'Who giveth this woman to be
married to this man?' perhaps you think I did not envy that father who
answered 'I--I do!' Ah, he was a fine looking man, indeed yes, a fine
looking man! After the wedding was over--I--I walked home. What is in
my heart I cannot tell you; but she is happy, happy! What more can I
ask? What more dare I ask?" he broke off suddenly.
"What is it, Anton?" asked Fico gently, "you are worried, anxious!"
"You are in trouble, Anton," said Pinac, taking Von Barwig's hand.
"Come confide in your friends; they help you."
Von Barwig forced a laugh. "I troubled? Why, no, no! I have been to
a wedding; a happy wedding, a smiling bride, a fine fellow of a
bridegroom. A few tears, yes; but happy, happy tears! Come, come,
long faces! Cheer up," cried Von Barwig hysterically, and he slapped
Poons on the back to conceal his emotion.
"Mazette! Do you smell something?" inquired Pinac, sniffing the air.
"Something is burning!"
Von Barwig started and hastily looked into the coffee pot. "Ach Gott,
boys," he said, "it's the coffee!" and he laughed.
"Is it boiling?" asked Pinac.
"Boiling! No, it's burning! I--forgot to put the water in it," and he
laughed aloud.
"Let me make the coffee this time," said Pinac, busying himself at that
occupation without further delay.
"Yes, and I mend that skylight," said Von Barwig, climbing up the steps
that led to the skylight window. But Von Barwig was not successful.
The wind was so strong that it blew away everything that he tried to
substitute for the missing pane of glass. Finally he determined, as he
could not mend it, to stuff it up temporarily and to that end he asked
Pinac to hand him up a cloak, which was lying on a chair, and which he
thought was his own. His effort to stuff it into the broken skylight
was only too successful, for, as it went through to the other side, the
wind caught it, tore it out of his hands and blew it completely away.
There was a great outcry as the men realised that Pinac's overcoat had
blown away and was lost. It was only when Jenny brought up the missing
article, which had fallen into the street below, that their excitement
was allayed. Von Barwig made no further effort to mend the skylight.
A little later, after the men had gone out to their respective
engagements, Jenny found Von Barwig busily engaged in packing his last
few remaining possessions into the little old-fashioned portmanteau
which he had brought over from Leipsic with him. He had pulled it out
into the hallway, as his room was too small for him to pack comfortably.
"I've packed all your other things away. Everything is ready now,"
said Jenny in a low voice.
The old man nodded and patted her hand as if to thank her for all her
goodness.
"Have you told them?" she asked.
"No," replied Von Barwig sadly; "I can't, I haven't the courage. I
can't stand parting; I shall write them."
Jenny was so filled with emotion that she could hardly speak. "You
told _me_," she said after a while.
"Yes, you are the only one that could understand. I had to tell you,
Jenny! I can't go like a thief in the night without letting some one
know. You will tell them that I had to go, that there was nothing else
to do. Explain for me; you will do that, won't you? Don't let them
think that I--I didn't care."
Jenny nodded. Tears were running down her cheeks. "And you never
found the baby, the lost little girl you came over to find; the baby
that is now a young lady?"
"Ja, I go back without her," said Von Barwig, avoiding the question.
"That is our secret, eh, little friend? You will never speak of it,
never tell a soul, eh? And you write to me, you tell me all the news
of the neighbourhood. Let me know how the poor pupils get on without
their old music master. Here, Jenny! here is money for stamps."