Even the bouillon choked him and the fish was as ashes in his mouth. Courses came on and were removed, and he tasted each mechanically, prodded to this duty by his mother’s active elbow. Her tact and volubility covered his silence, though there was nobody at that table, save herself, who did not mentally set the lad down as an ignorant, ill-bred person, oddly unlike the others of his family. Handsome? Oh! yes. His appearance was quite correct and even noticeable, but if a man were too stupid to open his mouth, save to put food into it, his place at a social function were better filled by a plainer and more agreeable person.
But all things end, as even that intolerable dinner finally did, and Adrian was free to rise and in some quieter place try to rearrange his disordered ideas. But he noticed that Kate signaled her mother to lead the guests from the room while she, herself, remained to exchange a few words with her chief musician. Adrian, also, lingered, unreproved, with an intensity of interest which fully redeemed his face from that dulness which his sister had previously assigned to it. She even smiled upon him, reassuringly:
“You’ll get used to society after a bit, brother. You’ve avoided it so much and lived so among those artists that you’re somewhat awkward yet. But you’ll do in time, you’ll do very well. I mean to make it a point that you shall attend all my little functions.”
But Adrian resolved that he would never grace, or disgrace, another in this place, though he answered nothing. Then the lady turned to Number 526, and the boy’s eyes fixed themselves upon that worn face, seeking resemblances, trying to comprehend that this unhappy fellow was the father of his sunny Margot.
Kate was speaking now with an accent intended to be kind, even commendatory, but her brother’s ear detected, also, its tone of condescension. Did the convict notice it, as well? If so, his face showed no sign.
“You did well, my man, very well. I think that there might be a bit more time allowed for practice, and will speak to the warden about it. But you, personally, have a remarkable gift. I hope you will profit by it to your soul’s good. I shall want you and your men again for a time this evening. I have the warden’s consent in the matter. A few arias and dreamy waltzes, perhaps that sonata which you and 1001 played the other day at my reception. Just your violin and the piano. You will undertake it? The instruments shall be screened, of course.”
Adrian was leaning forward, his hands clenched, his lips parted. His gaze became more and more intense. Suddenly the convict raised his own eyes and met the youth’s squarely, unflinchingly. They were blue eyes, pain-dimmed, but courageous. Margot’s eyes, in very shape and color, as hers might be when life had brought her sorrow. For a half-minute the pair regarded one another, moved by an influence the elder man could not understand; then Adrian’s hand went out invitingly, while he said:
“Allow me to thank you for your music. I’ve never heard a violin speak as yours does.”
The convict hesitated, glanced at the warden’s lady, and replied: