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And I’d do it again for you if needs be. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. Whenever they stepped from the chairs, he stepped down. . ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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