"I felt certain from the first that you were a musician," I replied. "I wonder if I could induce you to play to me?"
"I will do so with pleasure if you wish it?" she answered, and accordingly crossed the room to the corner where the piano stood. Prepared as I was to find her a good pianiste, I did not dream for a moment that her talent was so great. As it was, she fascinated me from the moment that her fingers touched the keys. In explanation I might here remark that I am particularly susceptible to music, and now, under her influence, I sat spell-bound. The work was Saint Saën's "Danse Macabre," and in her hands the fierce madness of that remarkable composition was brought out with more than its usual diablerie.
In order to understand what is to follow, it must be remembered that I was seated near the fire-place, and that her piano was at the further end of the room, so that, placed as I was, I could not see my hostess.
Having once felt the divine afflatus, she played on and on, without stopping to enquire whether I was tired, wandering from master to master as the fancy seized her. Such was the effect of the music upon me, that in a short time I became scarcely conscious of mundane affairs. A delicious languor was stealing over me, and little by little I felt my eyes closing. The music appeared to be growing gradually fainter, until it could scarcely be heard. I tried to rouse myself, but was unable to do so. At last, even the inclination to battle with the feeling of drowsiness left me, and I abandoned myself to my fate.
Whether I fell asleep and dreamt what I am about to describe, or whether the Countess, in the exercise of a deadly power which I feel convinced she possessed, had hypnotized me, I cannot say. The fact remains, that in my mind's eye, for my eyes were closed, I saw her rise from the instrument and approach me. Then, she came closer, stopped, and stooped over me until her eyes were close to mine. There was a light in them that pierced my eyelids and penetrated to the centre of my brain.
"It is useless for you to strive with me," she said; "you are mine, and must do my bidding."
Then she began to question me on certain matters connected with the war and with European politics. I appeared to be telling her secrets, so vital in their importance, that to have breathed them aloud to the world would have been to run the risk of causing the most serious international complications. Yet, still powerless to resist, I answered the questions as they were put to me, keeping nothing back. When she had learnt all that she wanted to know, she moved away from me, and returned to the piano. Then once more she began to play, the music growing louder and more distinct as it progressed. Then I woke, to find her still playing the same piece as when I had closed my eyes. When she had finished it, she rose from her seat.
"I think of all the great masters, I prefer Chopin," she said, as she crossed the room. "Yes, I am certain that he stands first in my admiration."
Her manner was so open, so sincere, that the suspicion I had been tempted to entertain against her vanished in a trice. It was all imagination, I told myself. Under the influence of her music I must have fallen asleep and dreamt it all. Had I not good proof of this? Had it really happened, it would have taken nearly a quarter of an hour for me to impart the information she had asked of me. Yet the long hand of the clock upon the mantel-piece had only advanced three minutes since I had last looked at it. How comforting this assurance was to me I must leave you to understand. It was the most singularly vivid dream, however, I had had in my life, and, but for the evidence of the clock, and the sincerity of the Countess's manner, I could have sworn that the incident I have just described had really occurred. Yet there was another side to the question. I had fallen asleep while paying an afternoon call, and the idea disquieted me more than I cared to admit. Then a servant entered with tea, and under the influence of the Countess's Pekoe and fashionable chit-chat my powers of conversation returned to me. At last I rose to take leave.