Only a quarter of an hour before he was to come on to the platform Karl was with him in the artist’s room, trying to occupy his mind in talk, but watching him with ever-increasing nervousness, as he walked up and down like a caged animal between door and window. Once Martin took out a cigarette, bit the end off as if it were a cigar, and threw it away. Then he asked a question, paid not the slightest attention to the answer, and finally sat down on the edge of the table. His face was flushed, his eyes very bright; had not it been that Karl knew how excited he was, he would have thought he was ill. “I shall break down,” he said. “Look at my hands; look how they tremble. I can’t keep them still. I could no more play a series of octaves than I could fly. It would be like the ‘Tremolo’ stop on Chartries organ.” “My dear boy, I have told you that that does not matter in the slightest degree,” said Karl. “The moment you touch the notes that will cease absolutely. Why, even now my hands always tremble before I begin!” Martin apparently was not listening. “And I have not the remotest notion how the ‘Études Symphoniques’ begin,” he said. Karl tried to laugh, but he was not very successful. As a matter of fact he was quite as nervous as Martin. “That’s a great pity,” he said, “as you open with it. I don’t know either.” But Martin did not smile. “What will you do if I break down?” he said; “if I can’t begin? It is more than possible.” “I shall hiss; I shall boo; I shall demand the return of my money,” said he. But Martin still remained perfectly grave. “Ah, don’t,” he said; “the others may boo if they like, and I shan’t mind--much. But I couldn’t stand it if you did.” “Did you drink a good, stiff glass of whiskey-and-soda for lunch, as I told you to?” demanded Karl. “I tried to, but I should have been dead drunk if I had gone on. So what will you do if I break down?” he asked again. “You told me, but I have forgotten.” Karl rose from his chair. “I shall break my heart, Martin,” he said. Then he spoke to him quickly, peremptorily, seeing he was really on the verge of hysterics. “We’ve had quite enough of this nonsense, my dear boy,” he said. “If you give me any more of it, I shall lose my temper with you. You are not going to break down, I forbid you, and you are to do as I tell you. You are going to play your very best,--better than you have ever played before. Now I must get to my place. Give them five minutes law before you appear, and as soon as I see the top of your black head coming up the stairs I shall have all the doors closed till the end of the Études. We’ll have no interruptions; they are frightfully distracting. You know where I shall be sitting, don’t you? Bow twice, right and left, walk straight to the piano, and begin instantly, without playing any fluffy arpeggios. It is going to be a great day for you. And for me.” Martin looked despairingly round. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me,” he said. “Can’t you sit by me?”