"It is quite true that when the Japanese choose to play the piano, we Europeans must shut up shop." He hurried out to the road and walked desperately....
The next morning, as he nervously paced the platform of the Ischl railway station, he encountered his old friend Alfred Brünfeld, the jovial Viennese pianist.
"Hullo!"
"Hullo!"
"Not going back to Vienna?"
"Yes—I'm tired of the country."
"But, man, you are pale and tired. Have you been studying up here after your doctor bade you rest?" The concern in Brünfeld's voice touched Davos. He shook his head, then bethought himself of something.
"Alfred, you are acquainted with everybody in Europe. How is it you never told me about that strange Grabowski crowd—you know, the granddaughter of Chopin's first love?" Brünfeld looked at him with instant curiosity.
"You also?" he said. The young man blushed. After that he could never forgive! The other continued:—
"Granddaughter, fiddlesticks! They are not Poles, those Grabowskis, but impostors. Their real name is—is—" Davos started.