He came in but didn't take this place; he went and stood before the fire to warm his feet, turning his back to us. Heidenmauer played and played, and after a little Vendemer turned round; he looked about him for a seat, dropped into it and sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Presently Heidenmauer called out, in French, above the music: "I like your songs--I like them immensely!" but the young Frenchman neither spoke nor moved. When however five minutes later Heidenmauer stopped he sprang up with an entreaty to him to go on, to go on for the love of God. "_Foilà--foilà!_" cried the musician, and with hands for an instant suspended he wandered off into mysterious worlds. He played Wagner and then Wagner again--a great deal of Wagner; in the midst of which, abruptly, he addressed himself again to Vendemer, who had gone still further from the piano, launching to me, however from his corner a "_Dieu, que c'est beau!_" which I saw that Heidenmauer caught. "I've a conception for an opera, you know--I'd give anything if you'd do the libretto!" Our German friend laughed out, after this, with clear good nature, and the rich appeal brought Vendemer slowly to his feet again, staring at the musician across the room and turning this time perceptibly pale. I felt there was a drama in the air, and it made me a little nervous; to conceal which I said to Heidenmauer: "What's your conception? What's your subject?" "My conception would be realized in the subject of M. Vendemer's play--if he'll do that for me in a great lyric manner!" And with this the young German, who had stopped playing to answer me, quitted the piano and Vendemer got up to meet him. "The subject is splendid--it has taken possession of me. Will you do it with me? Will you work with me? We shall make something great!" "Ah, you don't know what you ask!" Vendemer answered, with his pale smile. "I do--I do: I've thought of it. It will be bad for me in my country; I shall suffer for it. They won't like it--they'll abuse me for it--they'll say of me _pis que pendre._" Heidenmauer pronounced it _bis que bendre._ "They'll hate my libretto so?" Vendemer asked. "Yes, your libretto--they'll say it's immoral and horrible. And they'll say _I'm_ immoral and horrible for having worked with you," the young composer went on, with his pleasant healthy lucidity. "You'll injure my career. Oh yes, I shall suffer!" he joyously, exultingly cried. "_Et moi donc!_" Vendemer exclaimed. "Public opinion, yes. I shall also make you suffer--I shall nip your prosperity in the bud. All that's _des bêtises--tes pétisses_," said poor Heidenmauer. "In art there are no countries." "Yes, art is terrible, art is monstrous," Vendemer replied, looking at the fire. "I love your songs--they have extraordinary beauty." "And Vendemer has an equal taste for your compositions," I said to Heidenmauer. "Tempter!" Vendemer murmured to me, with a strange look.