His naïve "Me" delighted Kohn: but Hecht was offended.
"I don't see that there is anything surprising in that," he said. "It is not such easy work as all that! If you think it too easy, so much the better. We'll see about that later on. You tell me you are a good musician. I must believe you. But I've never heard of you."
He thought to himself:
"If one were to believe all these young sparks, they would knock the stuffing out of Johannes Brahms himself."
Christophe made no reply—(for he had vowed to hold himself in check)—clapped his hat on his head, and turned towards the door. Kohn stopped him, laughing:
"Wait, wait!" he said. And he turned to Hecht: "He has brought some of his work to give you an idea."
"Ah!" said Hecht warily. "Very well, then: let us see them."
Without a word Christophe held out his manuscripts. Hecht cast his eyes over them carelessly.
"What's this? A suite for piano … (reading): A Day…. Ah! Always program music!…"
In spite of his apparent indifference he was reading carefully. He was an excellent musician, and knew his job: he knew nothing outside it: with the first bar or two he gauged his man. He was silent as he turned over the pages with a scornful air: he was struck by the talent revealed in them: but his natural reserve and his vanity, piqued by Christophe's manner, kept him from showing anything. He went on to the end in silence, not missing a note.