I think he consented to play not to appear rude, but with the firm
intention of not being the instrument of our entertainment, and not
being made use of out of his own accepted calling. But happily for us,
he soon forgot all about us, and played on, absorbed in himself and in
his music. We listened breathlessly, the others quite as much engrossed
as I, because they all knew much more of music than I did. Suddenly,
after playing for a long while, he started from the piano, and came back
to the table. He was evidently agitated. Before the others could say a
word of thanks or wonder, I cried, in a fear of the cessation of what
gave me such intense pleasure,

"Oh, sing something; can't you sing?"

"Yes, I can sing," he said, looking down at me with those dangerous
eyes. "Will it give you pleasure if I sing for you?"

He did not wait for an answer, but turned back to the piano.

He had said "if I sing for you," and I knew that for me he was singing.
I do not know what it was for others, but for me, it was the only true
music that I had ever heard, the only music that I could have begged
might never cease, but flood over all the present and the future,
satisfying every sense. Other voices had roused and thrilled, this
filled me. I asked no more, and could have died with that sound in
my ears.

"Why, Pauline! child! what is it?" cried Mrs. Hollenbeck, as the music
ceased and Mr. Langenau. again came back to the circle round the table.
Every one looked: I was choking with sobs.