ay so hastily that he
touched her arm, causing it to yield a little, and some moments went by
before he ventured to look again. When he did, in some tremor, he saw
that, without fear of discovery, he might look as long or as often as
he chose. She was listening to the player with the raptness of a
painted saint: her whole face listened, the tightened lips, the open
nostrils, the wide, vigilant eyes. Maurice, lost in her presence, grew
dizzy with the scent of her hair--that indefinable odour, which has
something of the raciness in it of new-turned earth--and foolish wishes
arose and jostled one another in his mind: he would have liked to
plunge both hands into the dark, luxuriant mass; still better,
cautiously to draw his palm down this whitest skin, which, seen so
near, had a faint, satin-like sheen. The mere imagining of it set him
throbbing, and the excitement in his blood was heightened by the
sensuous melancholy of the violin, which, just beyond the pale of his
consciousness, throbbed and languished with him under the masterful bow.

Shortly before the end of the concerto, she turned and made her way
out. Maurice let a few seconds elapse, then followed. But the long
white corridors stretched empty before him; there was no trace of her
to be seen. As he was peering about, in places that were strange to
him, a tumult of applause shook the hall, the doors flew open and the
audience poured out.

Dove had joined other friends, and a number of them left the building
together; everyone spoke loudly and at once. But soon Maurice and Dove
outstepped their companions, for these came to words over the means
used by Schilsky to mount, with bravour, a certain gaudy scale of
octaves, and, at every second pace, they stopped, and wheeled round
with eloquent gesture. In their presence Dove had said little; now he
gave rein to his feelings: his honest face glowed with enthusiasm, the
names of renowned players ran off his lips like beads off a string,
and, in predicting Schilsky a career still more brilliant, his voice
grew husky with emotion.

Maurice listened unmoved to his friend's outpouring, and the first time
Dove stopped for breath, went straight for the matter which, in his
eyes, had dwarfed all others. So eager was he to learn something of
her, that he even made shift to describe her; his attempt fell out
lamely, and a second later he could have bitten off his tongue.

Dove had only half an ear for him.

"Eh? What? What