Nancy put her arm round Anne-Marie.
"Oh, darling, you forgot to thank him!" she said.
Anne-Marie raised her eyes. She held the violin-case tightly in both her arms. "How can one thank him? What is the good of thanking him?" she said. And Nancy felt that she was right.
"Where are my gloves?" said Anne-Marie. "He told me to put them on. And where is Fräulein?"
Fräulein had gone. She had been sent home in a cab after the second piece, for she had not a strong heart. Bemolle, who had been weeping copiously in a corner, stepped forward with the other violin-case in his hand.
Now they were ready. Anne-Marie was carrying the Guarnerius and the flowers, so Nancy could not take her hand. The men in uniform saluted and unlocked the doors, throwing them wide open. Then Anne-Marie, who had started forward, stopped. Before her the huge passage was lined with people, crowded and crushed in serried ranks, with a narrow space through the middle. At the end of the passage near the doors they could be seen pushing and surging, like a troubled sea. Anne-Marie turned to her mother.
"Mother, what are the people waiting for?" she asked.
Nancy smiled with quivering lips. "Come, darling," she said.
"No," said Anne-Marie; "I will not come. I am sure they are waiting to see something, and I want to wait, too."