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Robber Schwarz and Pastor Moser were omitted, and the bastard Hermann was vitalized into a person of some account by means of his counter-plot against Franz. The un-lyrical songs by which Schiller had set great store were dropped, and the catastrophe was so changed as to bring the two brothers finally face to face.
At last he sank down on a chair in front of the Titian, and when Miklos approached, delicately suggesting that the picture, though certainly fine, showed traces of one of the later pupils, possibly Molari, in certain parts, Herr Schwarz waved him aside. "Nein, nein! Hold your tongue, my dear sir! Here must I judge for myself."
Frau Schwarz, on the edge of Peter's tub-shaped bed, needed no English to convey the fact that Peter was a bad lot. Not that she resorted only to the sign language. "The women were also wicked," she said. "Of a man what does one expect? But of a woman! And the younger one looked Herr Gott! She had the eyes of a saint! The little Georgiev was mad for her.
Dove was on tenterhooks to be off. Of late, things had gone superlatively well with him: he had performed with applause in an ABENDUNTERHALTUNG, and been highly commended by Schwarz; while, as for Ephie, she had been so sweet and winning, so modestly encouraging of his suit, that he had every reason to hope for success in this quarter also.
Not that his impression of the night had faded, but it was forced to retire behind the hard, clear affairs of the morning. He got up, full of vigour, impatient to be at work, and having breakfasted, sat down at the piano, where he remained until his hands dropped from the keys with fatigue. Throughout these hours, his mind ran chiefly on the words Schwarz had said to him, the previous evening.
"You know my friend Guest, I think," he said at last, having racked his brains to no better result not for the world would he have had his companion suspect his anxiety to leave her. "He's a clever fellow, a very clever fellow. Schwarz thinks a great deal of him. I wonder what his impressions of the opera were.
"I know it's hard, but what are we to do? If we don't stand together, we'll be swamped." "That's right," said Schwarz. "It ain't sympathy; it's self-defence, Barwig," declared Mr. Ryan, uttering what he thought was a great truth. "Yes, yes," muttered Von Barwig. Hope had gone completely from him now. "Self-defence," he repeated, and then he laughed bitterly. "The art of music progresses.
She went back into her kitchen, and, after a brief absence, during which Frau Schwarz continued surreptitiously to scrutinise Maurice, came out carrying a large plateful of BERLINER PFANNKUCHEN. With these she crossed to an opposite room, and, as she there planked the plate down on the table, she announced the visitor. A surly voice muttered something in reply.
The elder man, a Bremen ship-owner, one Wilhelm Schwarz who had lately made a rapid and enormous fortune out of the Argentine trade, and whose chief personal ambition it now was to beat the New York and Paris collectors, in the great picture game, whatever it might cost, was presently forced to take some notice of the handsome curly-headed youth in the perfectly fitting blue serge suit, whose appearance as the vendor, or the vendor's agent, had seemed to him, at first, merely one more instance of English aristocratic stupidity.
"He thereupon took the jewels he had selected and locked them up in his dressing-case, the beautiful silver fillings of which Mr. Schwarz just caught a short glimpse of. Then, having been accommodated with paper and ink, the young jeweller made out the account and receipt, whilst M. Lambert, the secretary, counted out before him 105 crisp Bank of England notes of £100 each.
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