"How do you find him?" asked Mascha at length.
"Is he not?" Mascha fought back tears. "It is terrible to look on. He is not to be recognized; five months ago he was quite different. If one only could prevent him from playing. I am convinced he will experience something annoying."
"Yes, if one could only prevent him," murmured Nikolai.
Meanwhile Lensky had entered the drawing-room. A correctly dressed, well-bred looking blond man came to meet him, with the exclamation: "Welcome, heartily welcome to Rome!" and stretched out both hands to him.
Lensky negligently took one. Perfection's air of hearty comradeship vexed him. What did this little pianist permit himself? Formerly his accompanist had waited until he gave him his hand. Perfection noticed the old man's vexation. He was ready to pacify him. The news that Lensky would give a concert in Rome had at first caused him some excitement. Now, when he saw him before him, his excitement changed to compassion--the noble garment in which the triumphant ambition of young, aspiring mediocrity prefers to clothe itself to a vanquished great one. The broken old man with the round shoulders and trembling hands could no longer injure him. He suddenly felt the most tender reverence for him, and pressed his hand to his lips like that of a priest.
How repulsive such demonstrations would formerly have been to Lensky! He would have roughly and imperiously rebuffed them. Now this token of submission flattered him. "It was very nice in you to hurry a little to visit me," said he. "H-m--sit down." More he could not say.
"You have no idea what enthusiasm it caused among your adorers when one learned that one might at last greet you again here," began the talkative Perfection.
"Ah! Have you really left me anything?" said Lensky, striking his former accompanist familiarly on the knee.
"Do not humiliate me, master," replied Perfection.
Again Lensky struck him on the knee, and laughed loudly and somewhat constrainedly, although nothing laughable had been said.
"I am very glad--really very glad to see you again," he assured the pianist.
The latter smiled comprehendingly. "It reminds you of old times, _mon maître_."
Lensky's face clouded. "Not wholly--h-m!--I must still congratulate you upon your success. I am proud of you--regard you a little as my musical apprentice. Do you give another concert here?"