to have transposed. Do you think that he would be willing to do it?"

"Certainly; he would be glad to do anything," was the answer.

The next day a pale young man presented himself. "You are Monsieur
Massenet?" I inquired.

"Yes, Madame," came the gentle answer.

Thereupon I gave him the music, and I showed him to a quiet little room in
the upper part of the house, which contained a piano, writing-table, pen
and ink, etc., and left him to his fate. He came two or three times before
I heard him play, and then it was only by chance that I passed through the
corridor, and imagine my astonishment at hearing the most divine music
issuing from the room where the young man was working. I rushed in,
saying:

"What is that?"

"Nothing," he answered.

"Nothing!" I exclaimed. "I never heard anything so exquisite, Do play it
again."

"It was simply something that passed through my head," he answered.

"Then let something else pass through your head. I must hear more." I
said. Then he played, and I sat and listened to the most bewildering and
beautiful music that I ever heard. From that moment there was no more
copying. What a genius he is! I wish you could hear him improvise!