Max Merech nodded. His face was flushed and his eyes were filled with tears.
"What did I told you, Mr. Lubliner?" he said; and Jassy raised his hand for silence while Volkovisk began the second movement. This and the succeeding movements fully sustained the promise of the earlier portions of the composition; and when at length Volkovisk rose from the piano stool and approached the table Kammerman jumped from his chair and wrung the composer's hand.
"Sit in my chair," he insisted, and snapped his fingers at Marculescu, who fumed impotently behind the cashier's desk.
"Here," he called; "more wine—and look sharp about it!"
Marculescu obeyed sulkily and again the glasses were filled.
"Gentlemen," Kammerman said, "and Mrs. Lubliner, I ask you to drink to a great career just beginning."
"Lots of people said that before," Max murmured after he had emptied his glass.
"They said it," Kammerman replied, "but I pledge it. You shall play no more in this place, Volkovisk—and here is my hand on it."
Max Merech beamed across the table at his employer.
"Well, Mr. Lubliner," he said, "you lost your chance."