"No, thanks; I have already been offered a cigar by the gentleman next me. Perhaps you will kindly tell me how one, being sober, had any need to pretend to be sober?" Beratinsky stared at him. "Oh, you are thinking about that yet, are you?" he said, indifferently; and at this moment, as his neighbor called his attention to some further sketches, he again turned away. But now the souls of the sons of the Fatherland, warmed with wine, began to think of home and love and patriotism, and longed for some more melodious utterances than this continuous guttural clatter. Silence was commanded. A handsome young fellow, slim and dark, clearly a Jew, ascended the platform, and sat down at the piano; the bashful Hempel, still blushing and laughing, was induced to follow; together they sung, amidst comparative silence, a duet of Mendelssohn's, set for tenor and barytone, and sung it very well indeed. There was great applause, but Hempel insisted on retiring. Left to himself, the young man with the handsome profile and the finely-set head played a few bars of prelude, and then, in a remarkably clear and resonant voice, sung Braga's mystical and tender serenade, the "_Legende Valaque_," amidst a silence now quite secured. But what was this one voice or that to all the passion of music demanding utterance? Soon there was a call to the young gentleman to play an accompaniment; and a huge black-a-vised Hessian, still sitting at the table, held up his brimming glass, and began, in a voice like a hundred kettle-drums, "Ich nehm' mein Glaschen in die Hand:" then came the universal shout of the chorus, ringing to the roof, "Vive la Compagneia!" Again the raucous voice bawled aloud, "Und fahr' damit in's Unterland:" and again the thunder of the chorus, this time prolonged, with much beating of time on the table, and jangling of wine-glasses, "Vive la Compagneia! Vive la, vive la, vive la, va! vive la, vive la, hopsasa! Vive la Compagneia!" And so on to the end, the chorus becoming stormier and more thunderous than ever; then, when peace had been restored, there was a general rising, though here and there a final glass was drunk with "stosst an! setzt an! fertig! los!" and its attendant ceremonies. The meeting had broken up by common consent; there was a shuffling of footsteps, and some disjointed talking and calling down the empty hall, were the lights were already being put out. Reitzei had set silent during all this chorus-singing, though ordinarily, being an excitable person, and indeed rather proud of his voice, he was ready to roar with any one; and in silence, too, he walked away with Beratinsky, who either was or appeared to be quite unconscious of his companion's state of mind. At length Reitzei stopped short--Oxford Street at this time of the morning was perfectly silent--and said, "Beratinsky, I have a word to say to you." "Very well," said the other, though he seemed surprised.