"I should have thought," said Stranleigh, "that any true musician would welcome you with open arms."
"It is not so!" exclaimed Vassili. "They are all comfortably situated here, and why should I come to disturb their slumbers? Jealousy, jealousy, jealousy! Each knows in his heart that I tower above him as the peak of the Kremlin looks down upon the lowest hovel in Petersburg."
Stranleigh could scarcely repress a smile at the colossal conceit of the man, but nevertheless, from his playing and his composition, he deemed it justifiable, and attributed its blatant expression to the influence of vodka. The Russian's arms were gesticulating like those of a Sicilian actor, as he continued:
"My great symphony of humanity, could I but be allowed to render it here in London, will concentrate upon me the attention of the universe. The echoes of its harmonies and its discords will ring down the ages, and yet am I nullified for the lack of a hundred roubles."
"No; you are not," said Stranleigh. "You wish to collect a critical audience here in London, and perform before it?"
"Yes," answered the Russian.
