unrest and sadness and passion and sweetness trembling through it.

The baron started as he heard it. He moved carelessly to the window and
stood with his back to the room, looking out.

The countess looked up with a startled air. She glanced inquiringly
toward her husband. He was leaning forward, a look of interest on his
dark face. The child at his knee shrank a little. Her eyes were full of
a strange light. On the opposite side of the room her sister Marie sat
unmoved, her placid doll eyes resting on the player with a look of
gentle content.

The passionate note quickened. Something uncanny and impure had crept
into it. It raised its head and hissed a little and was gone, gliding
away among the low notes and losing itself in a rustling wave of
sound.... The music trembled a moment and was still; then the passion
burst in a flood upon them. Dark chasms opened; strange, wild fastnesses
shut them in; storm and license and evil held them. Blinding flashes
fell on them. Slowly the player emerged into a wide sunlit place. The
music filled it. Winds blew from the four quarters to meet it, and the
air was full of melody.

The count stirred a little as the last notes fell.

"A strange composition," he said briefly.

The child at his knee lifted her head. She raised a tiny hand and
brought it down sharply, her small face aglow with suppressed anger.

"It was not good!" she said.

The player turned to look at her. His big face worked strangely.

"No, it was not good," he said. "I shall not play that again. But it is
great music," he added, with a little laugh.

The count looked at him shrewdly. He patted the child's trembling hand.

"Now," he said soothingly, "something to clear away the mists! 'Der
Erlkoenig,' We have never had it; bring it out."

Schubert hesitated an instant. He glanced at the child.

"That music--I have it not, Herr Count--I left it in Vienna."

The count moved impatiently.

"Play it from memory," he said.

The musician turned slowly to the piano.

The child's eyes followed him. She shivered a little.

He swung back with a swift gesture, feeling absently in his pockets.

"A piece of tissue-paper," he murmured. He had extracted a small comb
from one of his pockets. He regarded it thoughtfully. "If I had one
little piece of paper--" He looked about him helplessly.

"There is some in the music-rack, Marie. Find it for him," said the
count.

The girl found it and laid it in his hand.