After a little while Musa snatched out of his right-hand lower waistcoat pocket the tiny wooden “mute” which all violinists carry without fail upon all occasions in all their waistcoats; and, sticking it with marvellous rapidity upon the bridge of the violin, he entered upon a pianissimo, but still lively, episode of the Toccata. And simultaneously another melody faint and clear could be heard in the room. It was Mr. Ziegler humming “The Watch on the Rhine” against the Toccata of Debussy. Thus did it occur to Mr. Ziegler to take revenge on Musa for having attempted to humiliate him. Not unsurprisingly, Musa detected at once the competitive air. He continued to play, gazing hard at his violin and apparently entranced, but edging little by little towards Mr. Ziegler. Audrey desired either to give a cry or to run out of the room. She did neither, being held to inaction by the spell of Mr. Ziegler’s perfect unconcern as, with the beer glass lifted towards his mouth, he proceeded steadily to work through “The Watch on the Rhine,” while Musa lilted out the delicate, gay phrases of Debussy. The enchantment upon the whole room was sinister and painful. Musa got closer to Mr. Ziegler, who did not blench nor cease from his humming. Then suddenly Musa, lowering his fiddle and interrupting the scene, snatched the mute from the bridge of the violin.
“I have put it on the wrong instrument,” he said thickly, with a very French intonation, and simultaneously he shoved the mute with violence into the mouth of Mr. Ziegler. In doing so, he jerked up Mr. Ziegler’s elbow, and the remains of the beer flew up and baptised Mr. Ziegler’s face and vesture. Then he jammed the violin into its case, and ran out of the room.
“Barbare! Imbécile! Sauvage!“ he muttered ferociously on the threshold.
The enchantment was broken. Everybody rose, and not the least precipitately the streaming Mr. Ziegler, who, ejecting the mute with much spluttering, and pitching away his empty glass, sprang towards the door, with justifiable homicide in every movement.
“Mr. Ziegler!” Audrey appealed to him, snatching at his dress-coat and sticking to it.
He turned, furious, his face still dripping the finest Pilsener beer.
“If your dress-coat is not wiped instantly, it will be ruined,” said Audrey.
“Ach! Meiner Frack!“ exclaimed Mr. Ziegler, forgetting his deep knowledge of English. His economic instincts had been swiftly aroused, and they dominated all the other instincts. “Meiner Frack! Vill you vipe it?” His glance was imploring.
“Oh! Mrs. Spatt will attend to it,” said Audrey with solemnity, and walked out of the room into the hall. There was not a sign of Musa; the disappearance of the violinist was disquieting; and yet it made her glad—so much so that she laughed aloud. A few moments later Mr. Ziegler stalked forth from the house which he was never to enter again, and his silent scorn and the grandeur of his displeasure were terrific. He entirely ignored Audrey, who had nevertheless been the means of saving his Frack for him.