M. Paul amused me; I smiled to myself as I watched him, he seemed so thoroughly in his element⁠—standing conspicuous in presence of a wide and grand assemblage, arranging, restraining, over-aweing about one hundred young ladies. He was, too, so perfectly in earnest⁠—so energetic, so intent, and, above all, so absolute; and yet what business had he there? What had he to do with music or the Conservatoire⁠—he who could hardly distinguish one note from another? I knew that it was his love of display and authority which had brought him there⁠—a love not offensive, only because so naive. It presently became obvious that his brother, M. Josef, was as much under his control as were the girls themselves. Never was such a little hawk of a man as that M. Paul! Ere long, some noted singers and musicians dawned upon the platform: as these stars rose, the comet-like professor set. Insufferable to him were all notorieties and celebrities: where he could not outshine, he fled.