The count stirred a little as the last notes fell.
"A strange composition," he said briefly.
The child at his knee lifted her head. She raised a tiny hand and brought it down sharply, her small face aglow with suppressed anger.
"It was not good!" she said.
The player turned to look at her. His big face worked strangely.
"No, it was not good," he said. "I shall not play that again. But it is great music," he added, with a little laugh.
The count looked at him shrewdly. He patted the child's trembling hand.
"Now," he said soothingly, "something to clear away the mists! 'Der Erlkönig,' We have never had it; bring it out."
Schubert hesitated an instant. He glanced at the child.
"That music—I have it not, Herr Count—I left it in Vienna."