n it all the time, but had also kept it a secret from her. She did
not like underhand ways, especially in people whom she believed she
knew inside out.

Now that the pledge of secrecy had been removed from him, Maurice felt
that he wanted facts; and, without thinking more about it than if he
had been there the day before, he climbed the stairs that led to
Krafft's lodging.

He found him at supper; Avery was present, too, and on the table sat
Wotan, who was being regaled with strips of skin off the sausage.
Krafft greeted Maurice with a touch of his former effusiveness; for he
was in a talkative mood, and needed an audience. At his order, Avery
put 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. It
seemed that one of the masters in the Conservatorium had expressed a
very unequivocal opinion of Schilsky's talents as a composer, and
Krafft was now sarcastic, now merry, at this critic's expense. Maurice
laid down his knife, and, in the first break, asked abruptly: "When
does he go?"

"Go?--who?" said Krafft indifferently, tickling Wotan's nose with a
piece 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 short
and harsh. The plate Avery was holding fell to the floor. Krafft sat
back 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 rough
voice. "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 right
to know. Yes, I alone had the right; for no one has loved him as I
have."

He rose from the table, knocking over his chair. "Or else it is not
true?"

"Yes, it is true. Then you didn't know?" said Maurice, bewildered by
the 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, adjusted
the seat, and made all preparations for playing. But with his fingers
ready on the keys, he changed his mind and, instead, laid his arms on
the folded rack and his head on his arms. He did not stir again, and a
long silence followed. The only sound that was to be heard came from
Wotan