"Perhaps the thing will pull through," said Lensky, and Natalie replied:
"Naturally, the opera will make a career for itself. You must yourself have forgotten how beautiful your music is, if you can doubt that."
"Is it really beautiful? I really do not know," murmured he. "One is so seldom able to believe it if others shrug their shoulders. To improvise variations on the old theme mon sonnet est charmant is a tasteless occupation."
There was a ring at the door-bell; he listened.
"Do you expect anything?" asked Natalie, and then she accidentally looked at the clock. It was already very late, and the hour at which he formerly had been accustomed to sit down to work was long past. She saw very well that he only trifled with time like a man who is too tormented by inward unrest to be able to resolve on an earnest occupation.
"Yes," he replied. "I do not understand why the Neue Zeit has not yet arrived."
Natalie lowered her eyes. The Neue Zeit was the journal in which Dr. Arnold Spatzig's musical criticism, or rather his musical feuilletons, usually appeared.
"That"--Lensky motioned to the pile of other papers "is all very pretty and pleasant, but it is not decisive. I am anxious to see what Spatzig will say."
"Do you consider Spatzig decisive?" asked Natalie, constrainedly.
"Yes."