"She's all I have, all; she's all I want. I won't go to-night, I won't leave her, do you hear? Let Ruhlmeyer conduct to-night. I can't go, I can't leave her alone! Suppose something were to happen to her?"
"But you must go!" said Poons firmly; desperation had given him courage. "You must go!"
Von Barwig looked at him in surprise; Poons's tone sobered him a little.
"For her sake you must work," went on Poons, gaining courage as he saw that his words had an effect on his friend.
"Yes, I must work," assented Von Barwig, feeling the force of Poons's words. "Shall I go, little Hélène, my little darling? Shall I go?"
"Yes, go and tell mamma to come," was the little one's reply.
"Come, hurry, Anton! You must dress, you have barely five minutes: five to dress, ten to get to the Gewandhaus."
"Ha! they can wait!" said Von Barwig grimly. "Prince Mecklenburg Strelitz, the Kaiser, all Germany can wait, while I mend the strings of my heart!"
The nurse-maid came in and suggested that it was time to put little _Fräulein_ to bed. Poons looked at her closely; her eyelids were red, for she had been crying.
"Take good care of the little _Fräulein_," said Von Barwig as he handed her over to the maid. It was long past her bedtime, and the little child had almost fallen asleep in her father's arms.
"Let me kiss her just once more; I won't wake her up!"
The girl burst into tears as Von Barwig bent over the child, kissing her tenderly; then she hurried into the next room with her precious charge.
"Yes," nodded Von Barwig; and then, with a sigh, "She knows."
Five minutes later, Von Barwig, accompanied by Poons, left the house and hurriedly took a cab to the concert hall.
It was noticed by more than one member of the Leipsic Philharmonic Orchestra that Herr Director Von Barwig was in unusually high spirits that evening. Many attributed it to the fact that he was nervous because of the first production of his new symphony. Karlschmidt hinted to his deskmate that Von Barwig was nervous and was trying to conceal it by pretending to be delighted with everything and everybody. This was probably true in a measure; at all events, when he came into the artists' room at the Gewandhaus at about five minutes to eight, he shook hands with everybody, joked with his men, and talked almost incessantly, as if he wanted to keep at high pressure. Poons watched him closely. Von Barwig was unusually pale, and as he slapped his concert meister on the back Poons noticed that, though his face wore a smile, his lips quivered.