Tieze drew back, half laughing, half alarmed.
The other brushed his hand across his forehead and drew a deep breath.
"Ja," he said slowly, "I might have killed you."
Tieze nodded. A look of curiosity held his face.
"It is schön!" he said softly. "Schön!"
Schubert turned abruptly.
"It is not for you.... For years I search that song, over mountains, in the storm, in the sunshine; but it has never come—till here." His eye swept the crowded place. "Now I have it"—he patted the rough coat pocket—"now I have it, I go away."