"It will not be degradation—on the contrary."
"And I don't believe I shall ever make myself a name."
"That remains to be seen. I don't expect you to become world-famous, but there is no reason why you should not be exceedingly successful in England, where no one bothers very much about taste or technique. Taste you have none, technique—— Lord help us!—but temperament—ach, temperament! You have suffered—hein?"
Nigel coloured. He could not answer—because he felt this man had suffered too.
"Of course, you have suffered—you could not play like that if you had not. Without your suffering you would be a clever amateur—just that. But now, because you have suffered, you are something more. 'Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen ass'—you doubtless know our Goethe's wonderful lines. So"—and his dark, restless eyes looked up almost imploringly to the sky—"sorrow has one use in this world."
There was another pause. The village was quite dark now—lights twinkled. High above the frosty exhalations of the dusk, piling walls of smoke-scented mist round the cottages, the stars shone like the lights of celestial villages, dotting the dark country of the sky. The Wain hung tilted in the north, lonely and ominous, Betelgeuse was bright above Sussex, Aldebaran burned luminous and lonely in his quarter. Nigel watched the Sign of Virgo, which had just risen, and glowed over the woods of Langerish. It flickered like candles in the wind. Then he dropped his eyes to the darkness round him, and through it came the creak of a harmonium.
"Well?" said von Gleichroeder.
"Well?"
"Will you accept my offer?"
"No, thank you."