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Chapter 13

           Somethinginthemusichadinstilleditselfintomyblood,orsoIfancied,andtheclingingsubtlesweetnessofit,movedmetostrangeemotionsthatwereneitherwise,norworthyofaman.IlookedatLadySibyl;shewasverypale—hereyeswerecastdownandherhandsweretrembling.OnasuddenimpulseIroseandwenttoRimânezwherehestillsatatthepiano,hishandsdumblywanderingoverthekeys.

           "Youareagreatmaster"—Isaid—"Awonderfulperformer!Butdoyouknowwhatyourmusicsuggests?"

           Hemetmyfixedgaze,shruggedhisshoulders,andshookhishead.

           "Crime!"Iwhispered—"YouhaverousedinmeevilthoughtsofwhichIamashamed.IdidnotthinkthatwaspossibletosodivineanArt."

           Hesmiled,andhiseyesglitteredwiththesteelybrightnessofstarsonawintrynight.

           "Arttakesitscoloursfromthemind,mydearfriend;"—hesaid—"Ifyoudiscoverevilsuggestionsinmymusic,theevil,Ifear,mustbeinyourownnature."

           "Orinyours!"Isaidquickly.

           "Orinmine;"—heagreedcoldly—"IhaveoftentoldyouIamnosaint."

           Istoodhesitatingly,lookingathim.Foronemomenthisgreatpersonalbeautyappearedhatefultome,thoughIknewnotwhy.Thenthefeelingofdistrustandrepulsionslowlypassed,leavingmehumiliatedandabashed.

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