“So much genius, you mean,” I interposed.
“That I never had any difficulty in getting an engagement. I saw a wonderful amount of life of a certain kind, and learned most thoroughly to despise my own past, and to entertain a thorough contempt for those who are still leading such lives. I have learned German history in my banishment. I have lived with our trues heroes—the lower middle-classes.”
“Well, well! You were always a radical, Eugen,” said the count, indulgently.
“At last, at Köln I obtained the situation of first violinist in the Elberthal Kapelle, and I went over there one wet October afternoon and saw the director, von Francius. He was busy, and referred me to the man who was next below me, Friedhelm Helfen.”
Eugen paused, and choked down some little emotion ere he added:
“You must know him. I trust to have his friendship till death separates us. He is a nobleman of nature’s most careful making—a knight sans peur et sans reproche. When Sigmund came here it was he who saved me from doing something desperate or driveling—there is not much of a step between the two. Fräulein Sartorius, who seems to have a peculiar disposition, took it into her head to confront me with a charge of my guilt at a public place. Friedhelm never wavered, despite my shame and my inability to deny the charge.”
“Oh, dear, how beautiful!” said the countess, in tears.
“We must have him over here and see a great deal of him.”
“We must certainly know him, and that soon,” said Count Bruno.