Edward S. Van Zile

“ Tom had sunk back into Molatti's arms, and his head rested against her shoulder. She had sprung toward him, as I learned later, just in time to save him from a fall. She now stood gazing mournfully down on his white, upturned face, sorrow, pity and, I imagined, remorse in her glance. For an instant a hot rage swept over me, and I strove to stand erect despite Mrs. Jack's restraining hand.
"Don't make a scene!" she whispered to me, passionately in earnest. "He is in no danger. See, Dr. Woodruff is feeling his pulse." ”

“ Suddenly Tom's chin went up, he opened his eyes, fixed them on Molatti's white face, and began to play. Such weird, intoxicating harmonies as filled the room, setting every soul therein athrob with an ecstasy that was close akin to agony, no earthly audience had ever heard before. Men and women were there who had memorized each and every note that Chopin wrote, but there was not among them one who could identify this marvelous improvisation, this strange exposition of a great master in his most inspired mood. It was Chopin, but Chopin unrecorded ”

“ Chopin à la diable! Non, non, no more pour moi, s'il vous plaît!"
"I can now die so vera happy! I hava justa once heard the maestro himself. I hava nothing left for to live."
"Who is this wonderful Remsen? Never heard of him before."
"You'll hear of him again, then. He's the only man living who can interpret the master."
It was, all of it, intolerable. How I hated these chattering idiots, who were making an idol of clay, setting up my poor Tom—who was to me at that moment an object of pity—as the incarnation of their cult, to whom they must pay reverent homage! ”