neck, which I thought nature had sufficiently protected with an ample red
beard. "Take my advice, my frient, tempt not de wedder. Stay warm in de
house and I play for you de music of de new opera."

"Thanks for your solicitude," I said, "but I must have my walk. Play to
your sombre friend, Schaaf, and see if you can soften him into geniality.
Good night."

The professor, with his usual kindliness, deprecated my thrust at the
taciturnity of his countryman and confrere, with a gesture and a look of
reproach in his soft gray eyes, and we parted. I watched him until he
disappeared at the first turn of the dingy stairs.

As I passed up the street, where I was in constant peril of losing my
footing, I saw his windows grow feebly alight. He had ignited the gas in
his room, which was that of the professor's sinister friend Schaaf.

My regard for the professor was born of his invariable goodness of heart.
Never did I know him to speak an uncharitable word of any one, while his
practical generosity was far greater than expected of a second violinist.
When I commended his magnanimity he would say, with a smile:

"My frient, you mistake altogedder. I am de most selfish man. Charity
cofers a multitude of sins. I haf so many sins to cofer."

We called him the professor because besides fulfilling his nightly and
matinee duties at the theatre, he gave piano lessons to a few pupils, and
because those of us who could remember his long German surname could not
pronounce it.