The Professor frowned at her, while his lips worked.
"You said, 'I remember.' And I believe you re member. I believe you are not learning anything new. You are remembering something you have known before."
Fräulein intervened excitedly. "Ach! Herr Professor! I assure you the child has never seen that piece! I have been with her since the first day she überhaupt had the violin, and—"
The Professor waved an impatient hand. He was still looking at Anne-Marie. "Who is it?" and he shook his grey head tremulously. "Whom have we here? Is it Paganini? Or Mozart? I hope it is Mozart." Then he turned to the man at the piano, who had his elbows on the notes, and his face hidden in his hands. "What say you, Bertolini? Who is with us in this involucrum?"
"I know not. I am mute," said the black-haired man in moved tones.
"Thank the Fates that you are not deaf," said the Professor, looking vaguely for his hat, "or you would not have heard this wonder."
Then he took his leave, for he was a busy man. Bertolini remained to pack up the Professor's precious Guarnerius del Gesù, dearer to him than wife and child, and his music, and his gloves, and his glasses, and anything else that he left behind him, for the Professor was an absent-minded man.
Then Nancy said to the assistant: "Are you Italian?"
"Sissignora," said Bertolini eagerly.
"So am I," said Nancy. And they were friends.