There were a few questions and answers, and then, the matter being decided, Mr. Mishler took his leave.
“I speak German,” said Carlos, addressing the musician in his own language, “probably better than you do English.”
“Ah, I am glad,” replied Mr. Werner. “I have been in this country only a month, and know very little of your tongue yet.”
“We will get along very well together.”
“Yes. Have you been speaking disrespectfully of your emperor—or president, as they call him—that they desire to imprison you?”
“Oh, no,” replied Carlos, smiling.“They do not imprison people for political offenses in the United States. Ours is what we call a free country. But I am accused of a crime of which I am innocent, and am secreting myself because it is difficult to obtain evidence that will acquit me. I hope to overcome the difficulty before long.”
“Yes? You have my sympathy. Where did you learn to speak German so well?”
“In your own country. I was there for some years, and at one time attended the music school at Stuttgart.”
“Indeed! There is where I was trained in the divine art. Will you play for me?”
And he opened the piano.