midnight
Too long had he been King Pianist , and his place was coveted by the pounding throng below . He drank more , and presently there was talk of a decadence in the marvellous art of M. Mychowski , the celebrated interpreter of Chopin . All this time Mychowski watched Daniel , watched him in the day , watched him in the night . He would prowl about his apartment after midnight , listening for the tone of a piano , and , after telling Daniel that he would be gone for the day , he would sneak back anxious and expectant . But he never heard any music , and this , instead of calming his nerves , made him sicker . `` Why , '' he would ask himself , `` if the fellow can play as he does , why in the name of Chopin does he remain my servant ? Is it because his servant blood rules , or -- His servant blood ?