emboldening him, and, still under the sway of this little elation when
his own turn to play came, he was the richer by it, and acquitted
himself with unusual verve.

As the class was about to leave the room, Schwarz signed to Maurice to
remain behind. For several moments, he paced the floor in silence;
then he stopped suddenly short in front of the young man, and, with
legs apart, one hand at his back, he said in a tone which wavered
between being brutal and confidential, emphasising his words with a
series of smart pencil-raps on his hearer's shoulder:

"Let me tell you something: if I were not of the opinion that you had
ability, I should not detain you this evening. It is no habit of mine,
mark this, to interfere with my pupils. Outside this room, most of
them do not exist for me. In your case, I am making an exception,
because . . ."--Maurice was here so obviously gratified that the
speaker made haste to substitute: "because I should much like to know
how it is that you come to me in the state you do." And without
waiting for a reply: "For you know nothing, or, let us say, worse than
nothing, since what you do know, you must make it your first concern
to forget." He paused, and the young man's face fell so much that he
prolonged the pause, to enjoy the discomfiture he had produced. "But
give me time," he continued, "adequate time, and I will undertake to
make something of you." He lowered his voice, and the taps became more
confidential. "There is good stuff here; you have talent, great
talent, and, as I have observed to-day, you are not wanting in
intelligence. But," and again his voice grew harsher, his eye more
piercing, "understand me, if you please, no trifling with other
studies; let us have no fiddling, no composing. Who works with me,
works for me alone. And a lifetime, I repeat it, a lifetime, is not