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toward me with astonishment, and her face turned purple, as if she were
seized with a sudden fear. She began to excuse herself, saying that
she did not play well enough. This refusal only excited me the more. I
remember the strange feeling with which I looked at his neck, his white
neck, in contrast with his black hair, separated by a parting, when,
with his skipping gait, like that of a bird, he left my house. I
could not help confessing to myself that this man's presence caused me
suffering. 'It is in my power,' thought I, 'to so arrange things that I
shall never see him again. But can it be that I, I, fear him? No, I do
not fear him. It would be too humiliating!'
"And there in the hall, knowing that my wife heard me, I insisted that
he should come that very evening with his violin. He promised me, and
went away. In the evening he arrived with his violin, and they played
together. But for a long time things did not go well; we had not the
necessary music, and that which we had my wife could not play at sight.
I amused myself with their difficulties. I aided them, I made proposals,
and they finally executed a few pieces,--songs without words, and a
little sonata by Mozart. He played in a marvellous manner. He had what
is called the energetic and tender tone. As for difficulties, there were
none for him. Scarcely had he begun to play, when his face changed. He
became serious, and much more sympathetic. He was, it is needless to
say, much stronger than my wife. He helped her, he advised her simply
and naturally, and at the same time played his game with courtesy.
My wife seemed interested only in the music. She was very simple and
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