, who, sitting on his haunches on a corner of the table, washed
the white fur of his belly with an audible swish.

XIV.

Whistling to him to stop, Furst ran the length of a street-block after
Maurice, as the latter left the Conservatorium.

"I say, Guest," he said breathlessly, on catching up with him. "Look
here, I just wanted to tell you, you must be sure and join us to-night.
We are going to give Schilsky a jolly send-off."

They stood at the corner of the WACHTERSTRASSE; it was a blowy day.
Maurice replied evasively, with his eyes on the unbound volume of
Beethoven that Furst was carrying; its tattered edges moved in the wind.

"When does he go?" he asked, without any show of concern.

Furst looked warily round him, and dropped his voice. "Well, look here,
Guest, I don't mind telling you," he said; he was perspiring from his
run, and dried his neck and face. "I don't mind telling you; you won't
pass it on; for he has his reasons--family or domestic reasons, if one
may say so, tra-la-la!"--he winked, and nudged Maurice with his
elbow--"for not wanting it to get about. It's deuced hard on him that
it should have leaked out at all. I don't know how it happened; for I
was mum, 'pon my honour, I was."

"Yes. And when does he go?" repeated his hearer with the same want of
interest.

"To-morrow morning early, by the first train."

Now to be rid of him! But it was never easy to get away from Furst, and
since Maurice had declared his intention of continuing to take lessons
from him, as good as impossible. Furst was overpowering in his
friendliness, and on this particular occasion, there was no escape for
Maurice before he had promised to make one of the party that was to
meet that night, at a restaurant in the town. Then he bluffly alleged
an errand in the PLAGWITZERSTRASSE, and went off in an opposite
direction to that which his companion had to take.

As soon as Furst was out of sight, he turned into the path that led to
the woods. Overhead, the sky was a monotonous grey expanse, and a soft,
moist wind drove in gusts, before which, on the open meadow-land, he
bent his head. It was a wind that seemed heavy with unfallen rain; a
melancholy wind, as the day itself was melancholy, in its faded
colours, and cloying mildness. With his music under his arm, Maurice
walked to the shelter of the trees. Now that he had learnt the worst, a
kind of numbness came over him; he had felt so intensely in the course
of th