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"Come in, Herr Harris, come in, please. Your visit will be immensely appreciated. It is really very fine, very wonderful of you to have come in this way." The door closed behind them and, in the sudden light which made his sight swim for a moment, the exaggeration of the language escaped his attention. He heard the voice of Bruder Kalkmann introducing him.
He feared he had said too much, or expressed himself clumsily in the foreign language, and when Bruder Kalkmann laid a hand upon his shoulder, he gave a little involuntary start.
"According to English ideas it seemed strict, of course," the other said persuasively, so that he went on. " Yes, partly that; and partly the ceaseless nostalgia, and the solitude which came from never being really alone. In English schools the boys enjoy peculiar freedom, you know." Bruder Kalkmann, he saw, was listening intently.
Ah," he stopped short opposite a door with the upper half of glass and peered in "surely there is one of the music rooms where I used to practise the violin. How it comes back to me after all these years!" Bruder Kalkmann stopped indulgently, smiling, to allow his guest a moment's inspection. "You still have the boys' orchestra? I remember I used to play 'zweite Geige' in it.
Do not misunderstand me, I beg." His voice faltered a little, and he had difficulty in finding the words. More and more, too, he had difficulty in understanding their words. "Of course," interposed Bruder Kalkmann in his iron bass, "we have not misunderstood. You have come back in the spirit of true and unselfish devotion. You offer yourself freely, and we all appreciate it.
The countenances round him turned sinister, but not idly, negatively sinister: they grew dark with purpose. He suddenly recalled the face of Bruder Kalkmann in the corridor earlier in the evening. The motives of their secret souls rose to the eyes, and mouths, and foreheads, and hung there for all to see like the black banners of an assembly of ill-starred and fallen creatures.
It was a very formal, a very German introduction, but Harris rather liked it. It made him feel important and he appreciated the tact that made it almost seem as though he had been expected. The black forms rose and bowed; Harris bowed; Kalkmann bowed. Every one was very polite and very courtly.
"On the contrary," replied Kalkmann instantly, rising from his chair and ignoring the hand the Englishman had stretched out to him, "it is we who have to thank you; and we do so most gratefully and sincerely." And at the same moment at least half a dozen of the Brothers took up their position between himself and the door.
I have only just arrived and really could not restrain myself." His German seemed not quite so fluent as usual. "My interest is so great. I was here in '70." The other opened the door wider and at once bowed him in with a smile of genuine welcome. "I am Bruder Kalkmann," he said quietly in a deep voice. "I myself was a master here about that time.
Somehow he had become the centre of the little party. He felt pleased, flattered, honoured. "And perhaps Bruder Schliemann will play something for us now." It was Kalkmann speaking, and Harris started visibly as he heard the name, and saw the black-haired man by the piano turn with a smile. For Schliemann was the name of his old music director, who was dead. Could this be his son?
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