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Updated: June 15, 2025
We are a nation of thinkers and dreamers." Michael hesitated a moment. "But you said not long ago that you were also the most practical nation," he said. "You are a nation of soldiers, also." "And who would not willingly give himself for such a Fatherland?" said Falbe. "If need be, we will lay our lives down for that, and die more willingly than we have lived. God grant that the need comes not.
Michael had enough influence with his mother to prevent her telling the girl what her crime had been, which was her refusal to marry him; but, when he was alone with his mother, he had to listen to torrents of these complaints. Or, another time, she hinted that Miss Falbe might be already married; indeed, this seemed a very plausible explanation of her attitude.
I have enjoyed it because I believe I have found a friend." Hermann Falbe had just gone back to his lodgings at the end of the Richard Wagner Strasse late on the night of their last day at Baireuth, and Michael, who had leaned out of his window to remind him of the hour of their train's departure the next morning, turned back into the room to begin his packing.
But if you don't care to see me I know you will say so, won't you?" Though an hour before he had turned back on his way to go to Sylvia, he did not hesitate now. "Yes, ask Miss Falbe to come up," he said. She came up immediately, and once again as they met, the world and the war stood apart from them. "I did not expect you to come, Michael," she said, "when I saw the news.
"That's just the devil with the piano," said Falbe. "It's the easiest instrument of all to make a show on, and it is the rarest sort of person who can play on it. That's why, all those years, I have hated giving lessons. If one has to, as I have had to, one must take any awful miss with a pigtail, and make a sham pianist of her. One can always do that.
"Mike will probably murder him on the way home." Sylvia moved her feet a little farther from the blaze. "Funny?" she asked. Instantly Falbe knew that her mind was occupied with exactly the same question as his. "No, not funny at all," he said. "Quite serious. Do you want to talk about it or not?" She gave a little groan. "No, I don't want to, but I've got to," she said.
He did not intend that this rejection should make the smallest difference to his aim, but he knew that he would start his work under the tremendous handicap of Falbe not believing that he had it in him to play, and under the disappointment of not enjoying the added intimacy which work with and for Falbe would give him.
Hermann Falbe himself had always intended to be a pianist, but the poverty in which they were left at his father's death had obliged him to give lessons rather than devote himself to his own career; but now at the age of thirty he found himself within sight of the competence that would allow him to cut down his pupils, and begin to be a pupil again himself.
It is his business to be ready for any attack on the part of those who are jealous at our power. The whole Fatherland is a sword in his hand, which he sheathes. It would long ago have leaped from the scabbard but for him." "Against whom?" asked Michael. "Who is the enemy?" Falbe hesitated.
"And we are not strangers quite, are we, Miss Falbe? We sat so near each other to listen to your brother, who I am sure plays beautifully, and the music which Michael made. Haven't I got a clever son, and such a good one?" Sylvia was unerring. Michael had known she would be. "Indeed, you have," she said, sitting down by her.
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