Mr. Græme had received from Paris an unpublished opera of Auber's.
At last Auber spoke, laying a hand on my shoulder: "It is over; let us go ahead."
Liszt relates a speech of Auber's, to whom a young musician of great promise had been presented.
That was true, Ezekiel said; and Auber had not seen the man in five years.
Auber was a small, delicate man, yet distinguished in appearance, and noted for wit.
Putting my ear to Auber's door, I listened—till I had made sure.
It was just the heat of the day, and Auber, stretched out on a deck chair, was taking a sort of siesta.
He had picked up Auber's purse from the table, where it had lain beside his watch.
Here also he made the acquaintance of Auber, ‘a stolid little elderly man, rather petulant in manner.’
"But that is not an independent career, my child," said Auber slowly.