Written for Short Stories 1903 "It is long since I have indulged in such frivolity," objected Marot; “my age and my professional standing demand a certain dignity of conduct — " "Nonsense!" said Léry, his old pupil, slipping an arm through his. "An artist like yourself may do as he pleases, and let lesser musicians howl as they will. This is not a waste of time — you are diverted, you are giving me pleasure, and then there are voices worth hearing within this ' cage of screech owls,' as you call it; and dancing — Ciel" “Deceived again! I thought her an angel!" said Léry. A strange voice answered.