'Would she play?' I asked; and she consented.
She was shy before me, but so eager to put her fingers on the keys that she conquered all diffidence and went at once to the piano.
When she had played a Sonata of Haydn's, I turned in my enthusiastic way to her sister and said how I rejoiced to have been able to gratify genius.
'Genius is a very large word,' said Miss Grammont. Cecilia was playing something else, and had not heard me.
'Genius is a large word, madame,' I replied. 'But is not that a large style? Is it not a noble style?'
Cecilia, she allowed, played very finely.
'Finely, madame? 'I respectfully protested—'she should play among the seraphs. You shall allow me, madame. I am no mean musician. As a critic I am exact and exacting. Permit me, madame, that I bring my violin, and play once with Mademoiselle Cecilia.'
She consented. I brought my violin and we played. Cecilia's musical memory is prodigious. Mine is also retentive and precise. But she had too much inventive genius for precision, unless the notes were before her, and sometimes I corrected her. Next, this delicious interlude over, I begged that the ladies would do me the honour to dine with me.
'You must not be extravagant in your good fortune, signor,' Miss Grammont said.
'Trust me, madame,' I answered. 'If the day has dawned, I will hasten no new night and make no artificial curtains.'