Jennette Lee

“ The young man bowed uncertainly. His full lips smiled doubtfully. "It is an honor," he said, "but I must work. There is not time to lose. I must work." He moved his big head from side to side and twirled his fingers.
The count smiled genially.
"It shall be arranged—a little house by yourself, apart from the castle; a piano; absolute quiet; lessons only by your own arrangement." He spoke quietly, in the tone of a superior granting terms.
The thick lips opposite him were puckering a little, and the eyes behind the great spectacles blinked mistily. ”

“ The count nodded.
"I thought so." He glanced toward the piano, "it is not too late—"
Schubert shrugged his shoulders.
"I told the child,—you heard,—I cannot play it again, that music."
The count laughed lightly.
"As you like." He held out a hand. "Good night, my friend," he said cordially. "You are a strange man."
The grotesque, sensitive face opposite him quivered. The big lips trembled a little as they opened.
"I am not a strange man," said Schubert, vehemently. "That music—it was—the devil!"
The count laughed again lightly. He held out his hand. ”

“ He looked approvingly toward the piano, and dropped into a chair at the other side of the door, twirling his long, light mustaches. The player, wrapped in sound, was oblivious to the world outside. The music enveloped him and rose about him, transfiguring the plain, squat figure, floating above the spectacled face and crisp, curling locks. ”

“ The baron glanced at him, smiling.
"You find ten miles a good stretch," he remarked. "We went too far, perhaps."
"Nein, not too far. We have had great talk," responded Schubert. His face under its mask of perspiration shone gloriously. He glanced down a little ruefully at his short, fat legs in their white casings. "But my legs they do not talk," he announced naïvely. "Yah, they are very weary, perhaps; but my soul is not weary."
He struck his breast a resounding blow with the palm of his hand and straightened his short body.
The baron laughed musically. ”

“ Faster and faster thudded the hoofs; the note of questioning fear beat louder, and into the sweet, answering melody crept a note of doubt, undefined and terrible, a spirit echo of the flying hoofs. It caught up question and answer, and turned them to sharp, swift flight. The pursuing hoofs struck the sound and broke it ”

“ The child, who had been regarding him intently, threw back her head, and a little laugh broke from her lips. Her face danced. She came and stood by the player, her hand resting on his knee.
Herr Schubert puffed and blew, and "The Erlking" pranced and thumped. Now and then he stumbled and fell, and the fugitives flew fast ahead.
The player's face was grave beyond belief, filled with a kind of fat melancholy, and tinged with tragic intent. ”

“ A small figure glided from a curtained window and approached him timidly.
"Your hat is on the next landing, Herr Schubert," she said.
He looked down at her. His big face flushed with pleasure. "You like my music," he said bluntly.
She shook her head gravely.
"It is terrible," she replied.
The spectacles glared at her. ”

“ 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 the 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. ”

“ Her sister, whose slow glance had followed hers, gave a little gasp, and sank into a chair on the opposite side of the stove in a position of duplicate meekness. The door at the other end of the room had swung open, and a tall woman swept in, followed by a diminutive figure in green coat and white trousers. A pair of huge spectacles, mounted on a somewhat stumpy nose, peered absently from side to side as he approached.
"My daughters, Herr Schubert," said the tall lady, with a circumflex wave of her white hand that included the waxlike figures on each side the stove. ”

“ The player sat motionless, gazing before him.
The dark man sprang to his feet, his face illumined, the child clinging to his hand. He patted the dark curls carelessly as he flashed a smile to the young man at the other side of the room. ”

“ There was a moment's lull. Nobody laughed. Some one thrust a stub of pencil across the table. A fat young man sitting at Schubert's side seized it and, drawing a few music-bars on the back of a program, pushed it on to him. ”

“ The Countess Esterhazy, framed for love, is dust and ashes in her marble house. The night music plays over her tomb. The night music plays wherever night is.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1928.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1951, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 71 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”

“ The wood about them darkened as she sang. Swift birds flashed by to their nests, and the green leaves quivered a little. A clash broke among the tree-tops; they swayed and beat heavily, and big drops fell. The girl's eyes flashed wide. The song ceased on her lips. She glanced at the big drops on the sill and then at the open door.
"Come in," she said shyly.
He opened the door and went in.
III "We feared that you were not coming, Herr Schubert," said the countess, suavely.
The group that had gathered in the music-room looked up. ”

“ The count glanced significantly at his wife. She came forward and laid her hand on the child's shoulder.
"Come, Caroline. Come, Marie," she said. "Later, Herr Schubert, I shall have the pleasure of thanking you." She swept from the room.
The three men remained, looking a little uncomfortably toward the closed door.
The count shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the musician.
"A very impressionable child," he said lightly.
"A very unusual child," returned the small man, gravely. He was blinking absently at the count's dark face. "She has the temperament," he murmured softly ”