“I say, Eugen! Look here!”
“Is he crying? Poor little chap! He’ll have a good deal to go through before he has learned all his lessons,” said Eugen, laying down his violin.
“What was that? I never heard it before.”
“I have, often,” said he, resting his chin upon his hand, “in the sound of streams—in the rush of a crowd—upon a mountain—yes, even alone with the woman I—” He broke off abruptly.
“But never on a violin before?” said I, significantly.
“No, never.”
“Why don’t you print some of those impromptus that you are always making?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. Ere I could pursue the question some one knocked at the door, and in answer to our herein! appeared a handsome, laughing face, and a head of wavy hair, which, with a tall, shapely figure, I recognized as those of Karl Linders.
“I told you fellows I’d hunt you up, and I always keep my word,” said he, composedly. “You can’t very well turn me out for calling upon you.”
He advanced. Courvoisier rose, and with a courteous cordiality offered his hand and drew a chair up. Karl came forward, looking round, smiling and chuckling at the success of his experiment, and as he came opposite to me his eyes fell upon those of the child, who had raised his head and was staring gravely at him.