If you ask her why she does it, she will tell you it is necessary to live.
Necessary to live!--who has ever proved that it is?"

For an instant, it seemed as if the girl were going to flash
out a bitter retort that might have betrayed her. Then she showed the
same self-control as before, and went, without a word, into the next
room. She was absent for a few minutes, and when she reappeared,
carried what was unmistakably a bundle of soiled linen, going away
with this on one arm, the volumes of music she had picked out on the
other. She did not wish the young men good-night, but, in passing
Maurice, she said in an unfriendly tone: "Do you know what time it
is?" and to Krafft: "It is late, Heiriz, you are not to play."

The door had barely closed behind her, when Krafft broke into the
loud, repellent laugh that had so jarred on Maurice at their former
meeting. He had risen at once, and now said he must go. But Krafft
would not hear of it; he pressed him into his seat again, with an
effusive warmth of manner.

"Don't mind her. Stay, like a good fellow. Of course, I am going to
play to you."

He flicked the keys of the piano with his handkerchief, adjusted the
distance of his seat, threw back his head, and half closing his eyes,
began to play. Except for the unsteady flickerings cast on the wall by
a street-lamp, the room was soon in darkness.

Maurice resumed his seat reluctantly. He had been dragged upstairs
against his will; and throughout the foregoing scene, had sat an
uncomfortable spectator. He had as little desire for the girl to