"Tickets for two performances besides the journey," the major proudly declares.
"And my cousin has surprised me with some delightful music which I have long wanted."
"Not worth mentioning, Rosamunda," Wenkendorf says, deprecatingly.
"My wife's birthday has really turned out a Wagner festival," the major declares. "Since ten o'clock this morning these two artists have been playing nothing but Wagner, for their own pleasure and the conversion of their hearers. Zdena ran away, but I stood my ground, and I have become quite accustomed to the noise."
"That is a good sign," Wenkendorf assures him.
"You ought to hear Wagner's compositions very often. What do you say, Roderich, to our playing for Harry some of the loveliest bits of 'Parzifal'? We are just in the mood."
"Do not let me interrupt you; pray go on; it will give me the greatest pleasure," Harry murmurs, glancing towards the door. Why does she not come?
Meanwhile, the two amateurs have begun with untiring energy.
"Kundry's Ride!" Frau Rosamunda calls out to her nephew, while her hands dash over the keys. Harry does not hear her. He has seated himself beside the major, and absently takes a cigarette from the case which his uncle offers him.
"I came to bid you good-bye," he says, in an uncertain voice.