I did not even know where to write and thank you. "Tut, tut! Don't exaggerate. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her.
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