"That's to your credit," replied Hecht. "If I am to be no musician in order to please you," said Christophe dryly, "I am sorry, but I'm not that." Hecht, still looking aside, went on, as indifferently as ever. "You have written music? What have you written? _Lieder_, I suppose?" "_Lieder_, two symphonies, symphonic poems, quartets, piano suites, theater music," said Christophe, boiling. "People write a great deal in Germany," said Hecht, with scornful politeness. It made him all the more suspicious of the newcomer to think that he had written so many works, and that he, Daniel Hecht, had not heard of them. "Well," he said, "I might perhaps find work for you as you are recommended by my friend Hamilton. At present we are making a collection, a 'Library for Young People,' in which we are publishing some easy pianoforte pieces. Could you 'simplify' the _Carnival_ of Schumann, and arrange it for six and eight hands?" Christophe was staggered. "And you offer that to me, to me--me...?" His naïve "Me" delighted Kohn: but Hecht was offended. "I don't see that there is anything surprising in that," he said. "It is not such easy work as all that! If you think it too easy, so much the better. We'll see about that later on. You tell me you are a good musician. I must believe you. But I've never heard of you." He thought to himself: "If one were to believe all these young sparks, they would knock the stuffing out of Johannes Brahms himself." Christophe made no reply--(for he had vowed to hold himself in check)--clapped his hat on his head, and turned towards the door. Kohn stopped him, laughing: "Wait, wait!" he said. And he turned to Hecht: "He has brought some of his work to give you an idea." "Ah!" said Hecht warily. "Very well, then: let us see them." Without a word Christophe held out his manuscripts. Hecht cast his eyes over them carelessly. "What's this? A _suite for piano_ ... (reading): _A Day_.... Ah! Always program music!..." In spite of his apparent indifference he was reading carefully. He was an excellent musician, and knew his job: he knew nothing outside it: with the first bar or two he gauged his man. He was silent as he turned over the pages with a scornful air: he was struck by the talent revealed in them: but his natural reserve and his vanity, piqued by Christophe's manner, kept him from showing anything. He went on to the end in silence, not missing a note. "Yes," he said, in a patronizing tone of voice, "they're well enough." Violent criticism would have hurt Christophe less. "I don't need to be told that," he said irritably. "I fancy," said Hecht, "that you showed me them for me to say what I thought." "Not at all." "Then," said Hecht coldly, "I fail to see what you have come for." "I came to ask for work, and nothing else." "I have nothing to offer you for the time being, except what I told you. And I'm not sure of that. I said it was possible, that's all."