"He has found me out already," thought Hélène. Then she mechanically picked a tune on the piano with one finger.
Von Barwig's trained musical ear caught the melody in a moment.
"Where did you hear that?" he asked quickly.
"At your house," she answered, "the night I brought Danny to you. I have a very keen ear for music," she added.
"You gave me quite a start," he said. "It is my symphony, my dead and buried work. To hear that music from you was startling." There was a pause. "Do you know the bass part?" he asked.
She closed the piano quickly with a bang. "What do you think of Danny?" she asked, ignoring his question.
"What a curious girl!" thought Von Barwig, and then he said aloud, "The boy has possibilities, and so have you," he added.
Hélène laughed. "It's a shame to deceive him," she thought.
"Herr Von Barwig," she began, "I want to be serious a moment. I'm afraid I've been guilty of a little—what shall I call it? Indiscretion? No, deception; that's better. I have deceived you—" She paused; the look of deep consternation on Von Barwig's face arrested her. "What's the matter?" she asked.
The old man gazed at her. "I don't know," he said, swallowing a lump in his throat "The fear that something had happened to prevent the—continuation—of—I am so happy here—I—" He apparently was unable to explain his meaning, for he stopped short.