"Yes, art is terrible, art is monstrous," Vendemer replied, looking at the fire.
"I love your songs—they have extraordinary beauty."
"And Vendemer has an equal taste for your compositions," I said to Heidenmauer.
"Tempter!" Vendemer murmured to me, with a strange look.
"C'est juste! I must'nt meddle—which will be all the easier as I'm dining out and must go and dress. You two make yourselves at home and fight it out here."
"Do you leave me?" asked Vendemer, still with his strange look.
"My dear fellow, I've only just time."
"We will dine together—he and I—at one of those characteristic places, and we will look at the matter in its different relations," said Heidenmauer. "Then we will come back here to finish—your studio is so good for music."
"There are some things it isn't good for," Vendemer remarked, looking at our companion.
"It's good for poetry—it's good for truth," smiled the composer.
