"What are you thinking of?"
"I … To tell the truth, Bertha, I was thinking of a melody out of the opera, which that man I was telling you about played to me this afternoon. But I can't get it quite right."
"You are thinking of melodies now …" said Bertha, smiling, but with a slight-tone of reproach in her voice.
Again there was silence. The carriage drove slowly along the deserted
Ringstrasse, past the Opera House, the Museum and the public gardens.
"Emil?"
"What do you want, my darling?"
"When shall I at last have an opportunity of hearing you play again?"
"I am playing at a concert to-day, as a matter of fact," he said, as if it were a joke.
"No, Emil, that was not what I meant—I want you to play to me alone. You will do that just once … won't you? Please!"
"Yes, yes."