“So, when I have made mineself the great artist, I have played on mine Cremona to many thousands, and the tears have come from all. See, it is always mine Cremona. And because of this, she has heard of me afar off, and she has chosen to have mine son learn the violin from me, so that he also shall be one artist. Twice she has heard me and mine Cremona when we make the music together; once in the street outside mine house, and once when I played the Ave Maria in her house when the old lady was dead.”
Doctor Brinkerhoff turned away, his muscles suddenly rigid, but the Master talked on, heedlessly.
“See, it is always mine Cremona, and the dear God has made us in the same way. He has made mine violin out of the pain, the cutting, and the long night, and also me, so that I shall be suited to touch it. It is so that I am to her as mine Cremona is to me—I am her instrument, and she can do with me what she will.
“It is but the one string now that needs the tuning,” went on the Master, deeply troubled. “I know not what to do with mine Fredrika.”
“Fredrika!” repeated Doctor Brinkerhoff. He, too, had forgotten the faithful Fräulein.
“The bright colours are not for mine Liebchen,” the Master continued.
“The bright colours,” said the Doctor, by some curious trick of mind immediately upon the defensive, “why, I have always thought them very pretty.”
A great light broke in upon the Master, and he could not be expected to perceive that it was only a will o’ the wisp. “So,” he cried, triumphantly, “you have loved mine sister! I have sometimes thought so, and now I know!”
The Doctor’s face turned a dull red, his eyelids drooped, and he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.