Walter asked her rapidly:
“Of course, you sing too. Sztaviarsky told me. True. I remember. Of all his pupils the most artistic. Are you going to be a singer?”
In the girl’s heart an instinctive protest rose against the suggestion.
“But why not?” Adam Walter’s voice became sad.
Anne did not realise that she answered the question by looking at Mrs. Walter, living forever isolated among the others.
“I understand,” said the young man ironically, “your indulgence extends only to the life of others, but is limited where your own is concerned.”
Anne knew that he spoke the truth. Her thoughts alone had been freed to-day. Her movements were dominated and kept captive by something. Perhaps the invisible power of ancient things and ancient men.
The room became suddenly silent. Somebody rose at the big table. It was Gárdos, the wrinkled head-physician or “proto-medicus,” as he was called. He knew of no other remedies for his patients but arnica, emetics and nux vomica. Ferdinand Müller half-closed his eyes as if expecting to be patted on the head.
Anne paid no attention to the proto-medicus’ account of the hundred years’ history of the Müller family and the “Holy Trinity” shop. She was toying with her own thoughts like a child who has obtained possession of the glass case containing the trinkets.
Others spoke after Mr. Gárdos. The top of the croque-en-bouche cake inclined to one side. The dinner was over.