Back and forth his
eyes ran, and his outstretched fingers kept pace with them in the air.
But those fingers could find no resting-place. Still the piano remained
silent. And then came the inevitable reaction. Such passion could not
last without crushing player and audience alike. Seven ladies in the
parquette were grasping the arms of their chairs, and three women in the
upper balcony had seized the arms of their escorts, as the brasses
crashed once and died out. The flutes for an instant reappeared, to make
way in turn for the violins, which now began timidly to peep out from
their hiding-places. They grew bolder; they joined hands, and once more
their insistent story quivered and sang throughout the house. And as
they sang, the player at the piano, exhausted by his supreme effort,
sank more and more into his indifferent former self. His form collapsed,
the fire in his eyes died out, and the powerful hands wearily drooped
and drooped till they rested once more on the player's knees. A sigh of
relief swept over the hall. Human emotion could stand no more. The
audience could hardly wait for the last throb of the violins, to break
out in rapturous applause.
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