The lacquey led the old man to a seat near the fire in the ante-room, and drew a folding screen before him. “Keep yourself quiet, my good friend,” he said; “You are out of view here, and yet can hear everything. I will fetch you a glass of wine presently.”
The old man sat still and listened to the music in the saloon; it thrilled through his inmost heart. He remained there many hours, till the lacquey, who had frequently visited him in his corner, came and said:
“It is time now to go, my friend; the company are dispersing; I will send my boy home with you.”
“That was admirable music!” cried the old man, drawing a deep breath.
“I am glad you were pleased,” replied the lacquey. “All you heard to-night was composed by the same master, who is now the guest of my lord.”
“Who is he?”
“Master Naumann, chapel-master to the Elector of Saxony.”
“A Saxon!” cried the old man. “Naumann! that is well; where is he?”
“Here, in the house.”
“Let me speak with him.”