His attitude, as he bent
out into the dark night, was perfect in grace, but eloquent of a great
tensity--even of agony. Behind him stood a lady in an elaborate
evening cloak. Brett's back must have conveyed to her in every curve
his surprise, his shame, that she should be kept waiting. His chivalry
in her behalf was such as Burke's for Marie Antoinette--little had he
dreamed that he should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon
her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honour, and of
cavaliers. He had thought ten thousand taxis must have leaped from
their stands, etc. The whistle that at first sounded merely mechanical
and ear-piercing had become heartrending and human when I saw from
whom it proceeded--a very heart-cry that still haunts me. But was it a
heart-cry? Was Brett, is Brett more than a mere virtuoso?
He is in any case what employers call a treasure, and to any one who
wishes to go forth and hunt for him I will supply a chart showing the
way to that doorstep on which last I saw him. But I myself, were I
ever so able to pay his wages, should never covet him--no, nor
anything like him. Perhaps we are not afraid of menservants if we look
out at them from the cradle. None was visible from mine. Only in later
years and under external auspices did I come across any of them.
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