The count moved impatiently.
"Play it from memory," he said.
The musician turned slowly to the piano.
The child's eyes followed him. She shivered a little.
He swung back with a swift gesture, feeling absently in his pockets.
"A piece of tissue-paper," he murmured. He had extracted a small comb from one of his pockets. He regarded it thoughtfully. "If I had one little piece of paper—" He looked about him helplessly.
"There is some in the music-rack, Marie. Find it for him," said the count.
The girl found it and laid it in his hand.
He turned back to the piano, adjusting and smoothing it. His broad back was an effective screen. The group waited, a look of interest on their faces.
Suddenly he wheeled about, his hands raised to his mouth, the comb, thinly covered with tissue-paper, at his lips, and his fat cheeks distended. His eyes behind the big spectacles glowed portentously.