"

"Because you know him."

"I couldn't give you an introduction if I didn't. This is silly of you,
Lancelot."

"If Brahmson can't see any merits in my music, I don't want you to open
his eyes. I'll stand on my own bottom. And what's more, Peter, I tell
you once for all"--his voice was low and menacing--"if you try any
anonymous _deus ex machina_ tricks on me in some sly, roundabout fashion,
don't you flatter yourself I shan't recognise your hand. I shall, and,
by God, it shall never grasp mine again."

"I suppose you think that's very noble and sublime," said Peter coolly.
"You don't suppose if I could do you a turn I'd hesitate for fear of
excommunication? I know you're like Beethoven there--your bark is worse
than your bite."

"Very well; try. You'll find my teeth nastier than you bargain for."

"I'm not going to try. If you want to go to the dogs--go. Why should I
put out a hand to stop you?"

These amenities having re-established them in their mutual esteem, they
chatted lazily and spasmodically till past midnight, with more smoke than
fire in their conversation.

At last Peter began to go, and in course of time actually did take up his
umbrella. Not long after, Lancelot conducted him softly down the dark,
silent stairs, holding his bedroom candlestick in his hand, for Mrs.
Leadbatter always turned out the hall lamp on her way to bed. The old
phrases came to the young men's lips as their hands met in a last hearty
grip.

"_Lebt wohl_!" said Lancelot.

"_Auf Wiedersehen_!" replied Peter threateningly.

Lancelot stood at the hall door looking for a moment after his
friend--the friend he had tried to cast out of his heart as a recreant.
The mist had cleared--the stars glittered countless in the frosty heaven;
a golden crescent moon hung low; the lights and shadows lay almost
poetically upon the little street. A rush of tender thoughts whelmed the
musician's soul. He saw again the dear old garret, up the ninety stairs,
in the Hotel Cologne, where he had lived with his dreams; he heard the
pianos and violins going in every room in happy incongruity, publishing
to all the prowess of the players; dirty, picturesque old Leipsic rose
before him; he was walking again in the _Hainstrasse_, in the shadow of
the quaint, tall houses. Yes, life was sweet after all; he was a coward
to lose heart so soon; fame would yet be his; fame and love--the love of
a noble woman that fame earns; some gracious creatu