felt slightly dizzy, as if a chasm of silence had yawned at his feet.
When he raised his eyes, the audience, most perversely, was exhibiting
signs of animation and interest in their faces, and the women in white
muslin dresses were coming down in pairs from the platform into the body
of Schomberg's "concert-hall." They dispersed themselves all over the
place. The male creature with the hooked nose and purple-black beard
disappeared somewhere. This was the interval during which, as the astute
Schomberg had stipulated, the members of the orchestra were encouraged
to favour the members of the audience with their company--that is, such
members as seemed inclined to fraternize with the arts in a familiar and
generous manner; the symbol of familiarity and generosity consisting in
offers of refreshment.

The procedure struck Heyst as highly incorrect. However, the impropriety
of Schomberg's ingenious scheme was defeated by the circumstance that
most of the women were no longer young, and that none of them had ever
been beautiful. Their more or less worn checks were slightly rouged, but
apart from that fact, which might have been simply a matter of routine,
they did not seem to take the success of the scheme unduly to heart.
The impulse to fraternize with the arts being obviously weak in the
audience, some of the musicians sat down listlessly at unoccupied
tables, while others went on perambulating the central passage: arm in
arm, glad enough, no doubt, to stretch their legs while resting their
arms. Their crimson sashes gave a factitious touch of gaiety to the
smoky atmosphere of the concert-hall; and Heyst felt a sudden pity for
these beings, exploited, hopeless, devoid of charm and grace, whose fate
of cheerless dependence invested their coarse and joyless features with
a touch of pathos.

Heyst was temperamentally sympathetic. To have them passing and